


Sedated

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21679810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There's something wrong with Stiles. Deaton told them that after the ritual, there would always be a darkness around their hearts, but something is different with Stiles. The Nogitsune did something to him. His darkness isn't just darkness, its...void. Deep. Black. Empty. Cold.Hungry.And it's getting worse.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura
Comments: 7
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- This fic is 100% self-indulgence. I wrote it for myself.
> 
> \- Fair warning, it gets a little dark. It’s 30,000+ words of pure angst. I don’t normally write Stiles this melancholic (okay, that’s a lie, I write sad!Stiles pretty often, but not usually this bad), but it was necessary for the story. Funny, sarcastic Stiles has left the chat, sorry about that. He peeks through occasionally.
> 
> \- Also, if you’re a young one, please know that this fic does not accurately represent drugs AT ALL. These drugs are all made up. Don’t do drugs. Go find your adult.
> 
> \- Note about the non-con: It happens at the very end of chapter 5 and there is a very vague recap of it from Stiles’s point of view in the first scene of chapter 6. It’s not graphic, and it’s not violent, it's really just some bad-touching, more than anything. If you need to skip that part, I’ll put a brief non-graphic description of the scene in the notes at the end of chapter 5.

Stiles didn’t want to ruin it. He didn’t want to ruin whatever it was that he and Derek had. This tentative thing that they had going on between them. Everyone but Derek and Stiles called it a relationship. Derek and Stiles didn’t call it anything. Hadn’t put words to it. Stiles didn’t even know if Derek was sleeping with other people or not. Didn’t know if Derek would be upset if  _ Stiles _ were sleeping with other people. They just...they were just existing. Together. Trying to cope and keeping each other company in the process. Stiles tried not to think about it too much. Their lives were too crazy and too complicated already, whatever was between them didn’t need to add to that. It was the one thing in their lives that was simple. It just...was. And there might be...probably would be a time where it became... _ not _ simple, but that hadn’t happened yet, so...so Stiles didn’t want to ruin it.

He didn’t  _ want _ to ruin it. He really, really didn’t, but...it was hard. It was  _ so damn hard. _ He’d done the fucking ritual to save his dad, ripped his soul open and left himself vulnerable, got fucking possessed, fought the possession tooth and nail until...until the Nogitsune was going to fucking drill a hole in Malia’s head and so he’d...he’d given in. He’d  _ willingly _ given it control. Opened himself up to it and let it consume him. Let it do things. Deplorable, violent things. With  _ his _ body. He’d been there the whole time, behind his own eyes. He wasn’t in control, but it was  _ his _ body feeling the things the Nogitsune felt. It was no different than if he  _ had _ been the one in control. The vicious, twisting, cold hatred that the Nogitsune felt.  _ Stiles _ felt that as if it were his own hatred. The only warmth that touched the trickster was the glee it had felt with each slice of a katana. Each cry of agony, every modicum of swirling, tumbling  _ chaos _ that it spun.

The Nogitsune had loved the chaos. The pain. It felt  _ so good. _ He’d never felt anything so good before. And all he had wanted was more. More more more.

Stiles had loved the chaos. The pain. It felt  _ so good. _ He’d never felt anything so good before. And all he had wanted was more. More more more.

His body. The Nogitsune’s body. Their souls, intertwined. One and the same until Stiles didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

But...Stiles had been scared. Terrified. Revolted. He’d wanted to stop. Would have done anything to make it stop. To stop the Nogitsune. To stop himself. Hadn’t he?

Hadn’t he?

He couldn’t remember anymore. All he remembered was the cold.

The Nogitsune was gone. Nothing but a tiny fly locked away in a box somewhere. Stiles didn’t even know where. Hadn’t asked. Didn’t want to.

And he’d moved on. Ignored it. Like it had never happened. 

He didn’t even cry out at the nightmares anymore. Even unconscious he shoved it down, away. He’d woken up plenty of times with a bloody tongue or a bloody lip. From biting down on the screams, the whimpers. Determined not to let it affect him.

And it had worked. Bloody lips aside, he’d been fine. He almost wasn’t, once. When Donavan...but he’d pushed through that. Hadn’t let the Nogitsune claw its way back into his thoughts then. The Nogitsune hadn’t killed Donavan. Stiles had. So he was okay. Well, not  _ okay, _ but...not possessed, and not-possessed was okay, in relative terms. He hadn’t let Donavan’s death remind him of the Nogitsune. It had been a close thing, but he’d managed to shove it down. The cold hatred, the burning glee. They hadn’t resurfaced.

They  _ would never _ resurface because those were never  _ Stiles’s _ emotions. No matter what it had  _ felt _ like, they  _ weren’t. _ Never would be. 

He almost had himself convinced.

Until...until one night. There wasn’t even anything special about that night. It was just a normal fucking Tuesday. He’d woken up from a particularly vivid nightmare and...felt the cold again. Tickling at his thoughts. Singing softly. Whispering. Tiny pinpricks of it at the back of his neck.

He could feel the darkness that was still around his heart. It had never gone away. Like Deaton had said, it never would. He’d been able to feel it ever since the ritual. Except it wasn’t just darkness anymore. Maybe...maybe if the Nogitsune had never found its way to Stiles…maybe if Stiles had never  _ let it in, _ it would just be darkness. Simple, manageable darkness. But not anymore.

It was void. Deep. Black. Empty. Cold.

Hungry.

He’d let it fester. He realized that, somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he recognized that it had grown because he’d let it. Because he’d tried to shove it down, away, all these years instead of addressing it. Dealing with it properly.

It needed...needed something. From him. Needed him to fill it. He needed to fill it with something. Needed to feed it.

He thought—hoped—that could be Derek, maybe. That Derek, the flawed, dirty, beautiful  _ heat _ of him would fill it. Would burn away the cold hatred of it. Burn it away so he wouldn’t need the chaos to burn it away instead.

But Derek wasn’t enough. And he hated that, because Derek  _ was _ enough. What he had with Derek was simple, yes, and it was undefined, but it was  _ pure. _ It was the answer to both of their needs. It was soft when they both needed it, rough when they both needed it. It was sweet and salty and loud and quiet and it was  _ enough. _ Enough for Stiles.

But not for the void.

The void needed chaos. Needed the fierce heat of the chaos to chase away the chill of its hatred.

And Stiles...couldn’t give it what it wanted. Only the Nogitsune could do that. And it was gone. It was gone, but it had left the worst parts of itself behind, and Stiles…

Couldn’t handle it.

He was weak. He’d always been weak. He was weak before, when he’d given in to the Nogitsune, let it take him over, and he was weak now.

He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to give the void what it wanted.

So he did the only thing he could think to do.

He went and ruined it. Ruined what he and Derek had.

He went looking for a little chaos.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He got drunk. Really drunk. And danced with a bunch of people. The loud music, the smell of sweat, and the pulse and throb of people dancing eased the void’s hunger for chaos just a little. The alcohol dulled it, helped him forget about it. The itching died down to a manageable tickle. For the first time in a long time, it was quiet in his head. He was almost happy.
> 
> ===
> 
> Stiles figures out a way to deal with the void in his own.

Stiles was taking a break from school. It didn’t make sense, because he was almost finished, was just on the edge of getting his second degree. Derek had asked him why, but whatever answer he’d given hadn’t mattered, because Derek could tell it was a lie. But he didn’t press. It was Stiles’s life and if he didn’t want to finish school, that was his prerogative. But it niggled at Derek, the fact that Stiles had lied. Why would he lie? About something so important in his life?

To Derek?

It wasn’t that Derek...it wasn’t that he thought that he and Stiles were really something  _ big. _ They were on the same page about that. Whatever was going on between them was...just simple and easy. The lie hurt, though. He’d thought...he’d thought that he was at least important enough to Stiles that Stiles would trust him with  _ anything, _ like Derek trusted Stiles with anything. But evidently not, so if Stiles wanted to quit school and lie about it, that was his business.

Except…

Who was Derek kidding?

Stiles  _ was _ his business. He’d made him his business. Stiles had gotten under his skin and...he couldn’t just let it go.

Something was going on with Stiles.

And Derek needed to know what.

He talked to Scott, first. Well. No. He’d talked to  _ Stiles _ first, obviously, but Stiles had lied, so Derek talked to Scott.

Scott had finished school and come back to Beacon Hills to work as a veterinarian alongside Deaton at the clinic. Derek ambushed him as he was locking up the clinic for the day.

“What’s going on with Stiles?”

Scott started and whirled around, dropping his keys and nearly dropping the backpack he was holding. He glared at Derek and stooped to pick the keys back up.

They hadn’t had to deal with many threats recently and Scott was getting too complacent. Derek shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on him like that. He made a mental note to talk to Scott about that later, but right now he was on a mission.

“What? What do you mean?” Scott asked, shoving his keys back in his pocket and hefting his bag onto his shoulder.

“Why did he quit school?”

Scott tilted his head in confusion. “He said he told you.”

“No, he told me a  _ lie.” _ Derek crossed his arms. “I want to know why he really quit.”

Scott spouted off the same bullshit reason Stiles had given Derek. Except Scott’s heartbeat was steady as he said it.  _ He _ believed Stiles.

“What the hell, Scott?” Derek chastised. It looked like now was a better time to talk about this, after all.

Scott’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? What did I do?”

“Scott, you’re an  _ alpha,” _ he growled. “You’re better than this. First you let me  _ sneak up on you _ and then you let Stiles lie to you?”

“Lie to me? He wasn’t—”

“He lied to you, Scott. He gave me the same bullshit reason and I heard the lie.”

Scott stared at Derek in disbelief for a moment before he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. His shoulders sagged and he fell back to lean against the wall of the clinic.

“I’ve been distracted,” he groaned.

“No shit, Scott.” Derek deadpanned. He didn’t ask for an explanation. Just waited. He could tell that Scott was working up to saying something.

“Kira’s pregnant.”

It was Derek’s turn to be surprised.

“Oh.” He paused. “Is that good?”

“I don’t know, man.” Scott opened his eyes and made a helpless gesture with his hands. “Yes? I think so?”

“Congratulations, then.” Derek dropped a hand onto Scott’s shoulder. “But get it the fuck together. Stop letting people sneak up on you or you’re not going to be around to see your kid born, Scott.” Derek turned around and started walking back to his Camaro. “Talk to Stiles,” he said without turning around. “See if you can figure out what’s going on with him.”

===

Stiles moved in with Derek, officially, finally. He’d already practically been living at the loft, anyway—he spent every weekend, summer break, and holiday break there. His stuff was strewn all over the place, he had a toothbrush in the holder next to Derek’s, an entire dresser of his own in the bedroom, and half of Derek’s closet was flannel.

So it was natural for him to move in when he decided to qui—take a break from school. So that’s what he did. He cleaned all of his stuff out of his shitty bedroom in the shitty student housing he shared with five other people, loaded up the Jeep, and took it all to Derek’s.

The void itched at him. The cold tickled at his insides.

Seeing Derek every day helped. Some. They fucked a lot—every chance Stiles could get his hands on Derek. But Derek worked a lot, which sucked. He worked night security at some boring tech place just outside of Beacon Hills. He liked it because he didn’t have to deal with people. Stiles never really understood why Derek wanted to work. He didn’t need to; his family had enough savings that he would never need to work a day in his life, but Derek said he didn’t like spending that money when he could earn his own. He’d squandered enough of it in the years just after the fire, apparently, and he wanted to be responsible with it now. Stiles wanted to buy a hot tub. It was probably best that he wasn’t the one with access to untold riches.

So they fucked every morning and Stiles lay awake in their bed at night alone. Until he couldn’t handle it anymore. Being alone at night in the dark.

Derek kept bugging him about why he quit school. Kept asking him if he was okay. And Stiles lied through his teeth. He knew Derek knew he was lying, and he knew Derek knew he knew. But he didn’t care. He could talk to Derek about anything, but...not about this. Derek was...Derek was so  _ good. _ Sure, he’d done some shitty things when he was hurting. When his entire family died in a fire and he blamed himself for it. When his big sister, who’d been the only person in his life he had to care about, had been ripped in half and he’d been blamed for her death. He hadn’t handled it well...who the fuck would? But beyond all that, after that was all finally  _ over, _ Stiles could see how fucking  _ good _ Derek really was. And Stiles couldn’t stand the thought of Derek looking at him and  _ knowing. _ Knowing about the knot of empty cold  _ evil _ that sat like a hard lump in his chest. It was enough that Derek had seen Stiles possessed, seen the things that Stiles and the Nogitsune had done, had had things done  _ to him, _ and still wanted to be with Stiles. Still wanted to wrap himself around Stiles in bed and share a bathroom and curl up and watch movies together. And maybe that meant that Derek  _ could _ handle the void with him, could look at him with the void behind his eyes and still  _ want _ him, but Stiles was terrified that he  _ wouldn’t. _ So he lied. And he lay awake at night and itched until he couldn’t take it anymore.

He started going out.

He didn’t have a lot of money saved up to spend on nights out, and he was...between jobs, but the pack members each had their own expense account provided by Derek. For supernatural-related emergencies.

Stiles decided this qualified.

It wasn’t all that often at first. The itching just got to be too much one night, so he got out of bed, got dressed, and left the loft. He’d lay awake so many times thinking about the itching, thinking of ways to alleviate it. It wanted chaos, wanted violence, but he was  _ not _ going to give in to that, so he let his mind churn, turn over ideas, until he finally came up with a plan. He drove the Jeep around the nightlife district of town, looking for the busiest club he could find. He waited in line but didn’t get in. Wasn’t dressed well enough, apparently. So he picked the second busiest. He managed to convince the bouncer to let him into this one.

He got drunk. Really drunk. And danced with a bunch of people. The loud music, the smell of sweat, and the pulse and throb of people dancing eased the void’s hunger for chaos just a little. The alcohol dulled it, helped him forget about it. The itching died down to a manageable tickle. For the first time in a long time, it was quiet in his head. He was almost happy.

When the night wound down, he went home. He wasn’t as drunk as he had been earlier in the night, but he probably shouldn’t have been driving. If he got an Uber, though, Derek would ask where the Jeep was. So he drove home. When he got inside, he stumbled to the bathroom and showered. He washed his hair and body three times, brushed his teeth three times, gargled half a bottle of mouthwash. He shoved the clothes he’d been wearing into the washing machine and turned it on, hoping it was all enough to hide the smell of the night from Derek.

It wasn’t that Derek would object to Stiles going out. He didn’t own Stiles, didn’t control him, didn’t  _ try _ to control him. But it was out of character for Stiles. It would bring up too many questions. So he hid it.

When he was done, he collapsed into bed and lay awake until Derek got home.

Derek came into the bedroom, pulled off his clothes and dropped into bed next to Stiles with a groan. He leaned over for a kiss, but stopped and took a few sniffs.

“Are you drunk?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

Dammit.

Stiles leaned up and kissed Derek, hoping to distract him. “A little,” he murmured into his lips.

Derek pulled back to look at him, his eyes searching Stiles’s face. “You okay?”

It wasn’t a lie, technically. The room was spinning slightly, lazily, and there was a pleasant buzzing low in his stomach. He was giddy and relaxed. The void was distant, ignorable. This was the best he’d felt in a long time. He nodded. “I’m fine.” He pulled Derek down closer. “Fuck me,” he demanded. He held his breath.

He started breathing again when that seemed to assuage any more questions from Derek.

Stiles fell asleep warm.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing and drinking isn't helping anymore. The void is getting hungrier, and Stiles finds a more effective way to handle it.
> 
> ===
> 
> Stiles and Scott think there's a vampire loose in Beacon Hills.
> 
> ===
> 
> Derek finally confronts Stiles.

Stiles was drinking too much lately. Derek would come home at least one night a week, at first, and smell it on him. He wasn’t worried about it at the start. It was just once, sometimes twice, a week. Plenty of people did that, it didn’t have to mean anything. And he seemed fine. He’d seemed a lot better lately, even. Happier. Derek convinced himself that Stiles had just been too stressed with school, and now that he was taking a break he was feeling better. And he was bored, so he had a couple of drinks here and there, winding down from the stress.

But it bothered him, in the back of his mind, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He couldn’t help but think about Stiles’s dad. The problems he’d had with drinking after Stiles’s mom died. He didn’t want Stiles to fall into that same pattern.

And then it wasn’t just once or twice a week. It was every night that Derek came home from work. Stiles was in a better mood on those nights. The two days of the week that Derek was off work, Stiles didn’t drink. He was more withdrawn, then. Quieter. Crankier. Their relationship dynamic had always had Derek as the initiator of the majority of their sexual encounters—Stiles had always been a little shy and more submissive, but lately, and especially on those days that Stiles’s mood was worse, he was more bold for a change, rougher in bed, needier, more demanding. 

Derek tried to talk to him about the drinking, but Stiles just waved him off. Said he was just bored and drinking passed the time. It was just a few beers, nothing to worry about. He promised to slow down a little.

More lies.

Then one night Derek came home to Stiles already passed out in bed, smelling like alcohol and...something else. Something chemical that wasn’t just the usual bitterness of his Adderall.

He woke Stiles up. It took a few times and when Derek finally roused him, Stiles was...out of it, not really waking up all the way. Derek let him go back asleep.

Derek got out of bed first thing that morning and Stiles was already gone. Off to meet Scott, according to a note he’d left in the kitchen.

Derek pulled out his phone and called his boss.

===

Stiles had made friends. A lot of them. He hopped from club to bar to club all night most nights. He knew it wasn’t good for him, knew it was putting a strain on his and Derek’s relationship, but...he couldn’t stop. At first, it had helped. It had fed the void with enough chaos that it was sated and quiet. But then it got hungrier and hungrier and he had to feed it more and more.

Until just the dancing and the drinking wasn’t enough.

And one of those friends offered him some pills.

The cold was taking longer to sate that night. He was already hours into drinking and it hadn’t dulled it nearly as much as usual.

His friend was blond, tall, and gorgeous. She was younger than Stiles by a few years. Probably just old enough to buy herself drinks. He...couldn’t remember her name. They had been dancing together all night. She had started out the night with her hair pulled up in a bun, but now it lay in long golden waves down her back, a little frizzy from waving it around dancing. She’d sweat off some of her makeup, but her lips were still a little sparkly from the glittery lip gloss she’d had on. 

A lot of that glitter was on Stiles. On his lips. His neck. His…

They had stopped for another drink and were both sitting at a table off in the corner, away from their group of mutual friends. They were talking about some inane boring bullshit that did nothing to ease the buzzing cold of the void. Stiles’s attention was barely on the conversation when she held her hand out, smiling inquisitively, two tiny white pills in her palm.

He didn’t even ask what they were. The void didn’t want to know. It wanted the risk that came with not knowing, reveled in it.

He plucked one of the pills from her palm and held it between his finger and thumb, studying it, letting the void bask in the idea of it.

He dropped one into a full shot glass. Watched it fizz, thoughtfully. The girl laughed. She picked up his shot glass and drank it herself. Then she dropped a pill into her own glass and fed it to Stiles.

They went back to the dance floor. Stiles felt it starting to kick in after a while.

And…

Holy shit.

His whole body was singing, the tension in his muscles was gone.

There was no cold. No itching. No buzzing. No void. He couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel anything but  _ good. _

The girl took him back to her car. They fucked in the back seat.

===

Stiles came back to himself sitting in the Jeep in front of the loft. He barely remembered driving home. Shit. He really, really shouldn’t be driving like this. If he had been able to feel the void, it occurred to him that it would have loved that. The risk, the danger, in driving drunk and high.

But he couldn’t. Couldn’t feel it.

_ Fuck. _

He had the presence of mind to shower the smell of the club and the girl off of himself. Scrub off the glitter.

Then he collapsed into bed, his blood still humming pleasantly. He didn’t stay awake to wait for Derek.

===

Stiles rolled out of bed the next afternoon bleary-eyed and hungover. He got out of bed and took a shower just to wake himself up. Then he got dressed, kissed a still-sleeping Derek, wrote a quick note for Derek, and left the loft to meet Scott. Stiles had barely seen Scott in the last couple of months that he’d been living with Derek. Scott worked a lot and Stiles had...been busy. And Scott and Kira were busy getting ready for the baby. It wasn’t that they weren’t still friends, weren’t still brothers, but...life had just kind of gotten the best of both of them lately.

Scott had texted him the night before about needing help with some research for the pack. There was something new creeping around town and Scott was convinced it was a vampire. He’d asked Stiles to bring Derek, but Stiles wanted to let him sleep since he had to work that night.

He stopped for coffee and hangover donuts on the way over, picking up extra for Scott.

Stiles parked the Jeep in front of the little house that Scott and Kira rented together, hopped out and knocked on the door.

Scott answered the door, then stopped, his mouth opening and closing in an aborted greeting.

“Whoa. Stiles, you look like shit.”

Stiles looked down at the donut and coffee gift in his hands and then back up at Scott. “Wow, thanks, buddy. I’m keeping these donuts for myself now.”

Scott stepped back and let Stiles inside. “No, seriously dude. Are you sick or something?”

“What? No, man, I feel fine. What do you mean I look sick?”

Stiles stopped in the entryway and looked at himself in the mirror that hung on the wall. He looked fine, no different than usual. He’d maybe gotten a little paler the last couple of months, maybe a little more red around the eyes. A little thinner, too, now that he thought about it. It had kind of snuck up on him. Did he really look that bad?

“Stiles, you haven’t looked like this since—” He stopped himself with a wince.

Oh.

Shit.

Was he really starting to look like he had when he’d been…?

The cold starting itching at him for the first time since he’d woken up that day.

He shrugged Scott’s comment off. “Whatever, dude. I’m not sick, seriously.”

“Stiles—”

“Scott, just drop it!” he snapped. “Is there a Lestat wannabe wandering around Beacon Hills or not? Let’s just do what I came here to do.”

===

Stiles came home later that evening around the time Derek should normally be waking up for work.

He unlocked the door to the loft and walked in to find Derek curled up on the couch reading a book. Stiles dropped his keys in the dish by the door and flopped onto the couch next to Derek, flipping around to lay his head in Derek’s lap.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey,” Derek replied.

He snuggled in deeper. “You’re up early. Whatcha readin’?”

“Salem’s Lot.”

Stiles squirmed around to see the cover of the book more clearly. “Wait, really? That’s so weird. I just spent all afternoon with Scott researching vampires. He thinks there’s one in town. Something’s left a couple bodies.”

Derek snorted. “Vampires aren’t real, Stiles.”

Stiles snorted right back. “Seriously? After all the shit we’ve seen, you’re telling me you don’t believe in vampires?”

Derek didn’t look away from his book. “Most of the ‘shit we’ve seen’ is stuff I already knew existed. If vampires were real, I think I would know.”

“Bro, expand your horizons a little.” Stiles reached up to tap a finger on Derek’s head for emphasis. “There’s probably tons of shit out there you don’t know about.”

“Did you just call me  _ bro?” _ Derek smacked Stiles’s hand away playfully.

A slow grin spread over Stiles’s face. He squirmed his head in Derek’s lap again. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Derek set his book down on the coffee table, the corner of his lips turned up in a small smile. He leaned down and pulled Stiles into a kiss. Stiles deepened the kiss, but Derek pulled away, his smile fading.

Great. Here it was again.  _ Stiles, I’m worried about you. Stiles, you haven’t been yourself these past months. Stiles, you drink too much. No, Stiles, I don’t want to choke you in bed. Stiles, what’s wrong? _

_ Stiles, what’s wrong? What’s wrong? What’s wrong? What’s wrong? _

The itching cold had intensified to a hard buzz under his skin.

“Stiles—”

“Derek, don’t.” Stiles sat up and turned away from Derek with a sigh. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. Just leave it, okay? Stop worrying about me so much.”

_ “Stiles,” _ Derek started again. “I quit my job this morning.”

Stiles’s head snapped back around to face Derek.

“You...quit. Your job.”

Derek nodded. “I quit my job.”

Derek waited. Watching Stiles for a reaction.

“You...why?”

Stiles’s head was spinning. Derek quit his job. Derek wouldn’t be gone every night. How was...how was he supposed to…

The cold was  _ crackling _ now. It was becoming unbearable. Stiles rubbed a hand on his chest.

Derek shrugged. “I didn’t need it. Didn’t like the hours. Didn’t get to see you enough.”

Stiles ground his teeth when the realization hit him. “You wanted to keep a closer eye on me, you mean.”

“No, that’s not—”

The crackling crescendoed and a wave of cold, irrational rage swept over Stiles. “Don’t lie to me, Derek!” Stiles was on his feet now. His voice was too loud.

“Oh, that’s...you have  _ no right _ to say that, Stiles. You of all people.” Derek was on his feet now, too.

Great. They were fighting.

And it kind of...eased the crackling a little. The fucking void was eating it up. Goddammit. How did everything get so fucked up?

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

_ “Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie!” _ Derek spit.

Fuck. Derek...Derek wasn’t wrong, but Stiles couldn’t stop the rage that was wracking his body. He didn’t reply, couldn’t organize his swirling thoughts into a comeback, so he just stomped away from Derek and into their room. He ripped off his clothes and dug through his dresser. He found a pair of jeans that were way too tight on him and a dark t-shirt that he’d accidentally bought too small. It clung to his body and showed an inch of skin at the bottom. Not the kind of thing he’d normally wear. He shoved the clothes on, then stomped into the bathroom. He ripped open the medicine cabinet and pulled out a jar of Derek’s pomade. He stuck his hand in the jar and then ran it through his hair, mussing it up. He turned to leave.

Derek was standing there, blocking the bathroom door, surveying the scene in front of him.

“Where are you going?”

“None of your fucking business.” Stiles shoved passed him.

He grabbed Derek’s leather jacket on his way out. He slammed the door behind him, leaving Derek calling his name.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets himself into a bad situation.

It was barely late enough in the evening that the club had only just opened. The girl was there, though. Lucky, because he still didn’t remember her name, much less have her number.

A grin lit up her face when she noticed him stomping up to her. She eyed him up and down approvingly. She could tell what he needed just by his body language, apparently, because she pulled him into a kiss before grabbing her purse. She pulled out a pill bottle and rattled it at him.

“Little early, hm?” she hummed into his ear over the loud pulse of the music.

He didn’t respond, just grabbed the bottle from her and popped two of the pills, swallowing them down with the drink that was sitting on the table next to her. She watched all of this with a faint look of surprise on her face.

“Wanna go somewhere?” he asked, raising his voice loud enough over the music to be heard.

She smiled and nodded. He took her by the hand and led her outside.

They climbed into the Jeep, the girl goading him with teasing laughter about his choice of transportation. He drove to the club he hadn’t been able to get into that first night.

He needed something new. Something louder, something more chaotic. The cold was clawing at him now, harsher than ever before. Hungrier than ever before. This was the busiest club in the city. It would have to do. He hoped they’d let him in this time considering his change of clothing and the pretty girl on his arm.

He was sort of right. They stood in line for half an hour before making it to the front. The bouncer looked at them for a couple of seconds, considering. He shook his head and opened his mouth, presumably to tell them to get lost, when a hand touched his shoulder from behind.

The pills, whatever the hell they were, were hitting Stiles pretty hard by this point—the world had started taking on a glittery, hazy surrealness—so it could have just been them talking, but behind the bouncer stood the most gorgeous man Stiles had ever seen.

He was tall, taller than Stiles, and pale. Wild red curls sat atop his head, and his eyes sparkled with so many colors that Stiles couldn’t even identify them, almost like they were changing with each shift of the light.

Just  _ looking _ at him set Stiles’s body tingling even more than it already was. He wanted to reach out and touch him. Wanted to wrap his body around him, wanted to melt into him.

Stiles was so entranced he barely noticed the man beckoning them forward until the girl linked her arm with Stiles’s and gently urged him around the bouncer and into the club.

The man fell into step beside Stiles, linking his own arm around Stiles’s free one. He leaned down and whispered into Stiles’s ear. Each breath sent shivering little jolts of pleasure coursing through Stiles’s body.

“You smell interesting,” he crooned, rubbing a thumb over Stiles’s jacket. Derek’s jacket. “Would you and your lady friend like to join me in my private room?” The man’s voice was deep and warm. The heat of it touched the cold of the void and it gobbled it up hungrily.

Lady friend? Stiles looked over at the girl on his other arm. He’d almost forgotten about her. She was staring at the man, a glazed look on her face, seemingly as enraptured by him as Stiles.

Something about this situation was wrong. Stiles’s instincts were like his own supernatural ability, and they would normally be screaming at him to get away from this man. To get out of this place. Danger, Will Robinson.

But that was healthy, rational Stiles.

This was Stiles high as a kite, the hungry void eating him up from the inside, and some...tantalizing force drawing him towards this man, sending waves of calming warmth through his body every time he looked at him. Yes please, Will Robinson.

Stiles looked back to the man and swallowed. He nodded. 

The man smiled lazily and led them away from the main floor of the club and down a dark hallway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek finds Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning: There's a brief, non-graphic non-con scene in paragraphs 6-9 of this chapter.** If you would like to skip it, a non-graphic recap will be in the notes at the end.

Derek tracked Stiles downtown, to the club district. He found the Jeep parked outside of a large nightclub with a long line out front.

Something smelled...off about this particular club. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Beneath the heavy stench of alcohol, sweat, sex, and the chemical bitterness of various drugs, he smelled something unfamiliar and wrong. Like sour milk. It was a heavy stench that permeated the whole building.

Derek didn’t wait in line. He marched right up to the doors flashed his eyes and fangs at the bouncer and shoved passed him, ignoring his shouts of objection.

He could smell Stiles.

He followed his scent down a long dark hallway. The sour milk smell grew stronger. He reached a room at the end of the hallway and pushed his way inside.

He didn’t expect what he found.

The room was dim, but Derek’s wolf eyes could make everything out clearly. A large, luxurious bed stood in the center of the room, all satin pillows and silk sheets. A young blond woman lay crumpled on the floor next to the bed, as though she had been shoved off, discarded. She was clearly dead, her body a dessicated husk. Shriveled. Used up.

Stiles was on the bed. His shirt and shoes had been removed at some point, though Derek’s jacket remained. His pants were still on, but unbuttoned.

A tall red-headed man sat astride him, their lips interlocked. Stiles was barely conscious, writhing lethargically beneath the man, moaning softly, either in ecstasy or distress, Derek couldn’t tell. The man’s hand was down Stiles’s pants, stroking him.

Derek’s wolf clawed frantically to be let out. His claws and fangs sprang out unbidden. He let out a deep growl.

The man broke the kiss and whipped his head around to face Derek in surprise. His eyes flashed in recognition and a sharp grin full of too many teeth spread over his face.

And then his eyes changed. A milky film crept over his irises and pupils until they were completely obscured, leaving only white globes where his eyes should be. Sharp claws extended from his fingertips, some of them digging into Stiles’s skin from the hand splayed across his chest. Stiles let out little, whining gasps, his body arcing slightly into the touch of claws.

“It was such a nice surprise,” the man crooned. “Your little pet wandered right into my den. I had planned on seeking him out on my own to lure you in. I had a whole grand scheme worked out to use the weakest members of your pack as bait, one by one.” He looked down at Stiles, who was blinking sluggishly around at the room like he was trying to focus, but failing. “I wasn’t quite ready, but…” he shrugged. “I couldn’t help myself.”

It Stiles were fully conscious he would undoubtedly be making a quip about tropes and villainous monologues.

But he wasn’t. He was laying on the bed getting the life-force sucked out of his body.

Derek roared and lunged for the man.

The man was a blur of speed, dodging Derek easily.

They whipped around the room, both a flurry of supernatural speed and strength, neither able to catch the other.

But Derek, ironically, had better stamina.

After what seemed like an eternity of dodging and lunging, the man finally faltered, stumbled, just once, and that was all it took for Derek to rip his claws into his throat.

The man fell to his knees, gripping his neck, blood pouring through his fingers.

He didn’t have any trope-y last words, he just fell to the floor, dead. Stiles would have been disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap of the non-con scene for those that skipped it: Derek walks in to find the villain on top of Stiles. Stiles is half dressed and half-conscious, and the man is touching him non-consensually. Derek kills the bad guy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek takes Stiles home. Stiles finally tells him what's been going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: There is a re-telling of the non-con scene from the last chapter from Stiles's point of view in this chapter. It is the very first scene. It's skippable if you don't want to read it.**

Stiles didn’t remember much of what happened inside the club. He vaguely remembered the room, the bed. Remembered the man touching him, the sparks of pure ecstasy that came with every brush and touch of skin. Remembered feeling like he was floating.

He remembered the girl. Remembered her on the bed next to him. Remembered her moaning and crying out with pleasure. Remembered her finally going silent. Then she wasn’t there anymore, and it was just him and the man, alone.

And then they weren’t alone, someone was growling, and then the man’s face was changing and Stiles could feel sharp claws in his chest. The claws seemed like they should have hurt more, but each pinprick of pain sent waves of sharp pleasure through him. He felt himself fading more and more with each wave, his body growing heavier and heavier.

He noted dimly that the void was long gone by then.

And then the claws left his chest and there was movement. Snarls and growls filled the room.

And then there was a choking, gagging sound, and then it was quiet and someone was buttoning up his jeans and pulling Derek’s jacket closed. He felt himself lifted off the bed, scooped gently into strong, warm arms.

A familiar smell enveloped him and he drifted away.

===

Derek took Stiles back to the loft. He cleaned the small claw-wounds on his chest and took him out of his too-tight jeans. He dressed him in a pair of loose sweats and a soft t-shirt and tucked him into their bed.

He had been tempted to crawl into bed next to him. To curl around him protectively until he woke up.

Instead, he paced restlessly.

Stiles slept like the dead for hours and hours. He was so still and pale that Derek found himself checking his breathing several times. He even contemplated taking him to the hospital, but didn’t know what the hell he would tell the doctors. Then, finally, Stiles stirred, his eyelids fluttering. He woke several times after that, but he was never lucid, never really aware of what was going on around him. Derek could still smell the bitter chemical scent on him. And the sour milk stench of the man.

The incubus.

Derek had known what he was once he’d seen him. Had been kicking himself for not recognizing the smell at first. It hadn’t been a vampire leaving dessicated corpses around town like Scott and Stiles had thought.

Incubi were territorial. They didn’t like sharing with other predators. So when this one had moved into town, he’d naturally decided to get rid of the pack.

And he’d tried to start with Stiles.

Derek was worried that this had been going on for a while. That this is why Stiles had been acting strangely, had smelled like alcohol so often, because he’d been out partying at this club every night, slowly being seduced and drained.

So he didn’t climb into bed with Stiles. Derek didn’t deserve the comfort that would bring him. He’d let this happen. He hadn’t pried more into what Stiles had been doing all this time, hadn’t been insistent enough that Stiles tell him what was going on.

And Stiles had almost died.

So he paced and waited for Stiles to wake up.

Until finally, Stiles stirred once more, opened his eyes and blinked blearily at Derek.

“Der?” He moaned softly, knuckling an eye. “Y’re gonna wear a hole in th’floor,” he slurred.

Derek stopped pacing and came over to sit carefully on the edge of the bed. He reached over and brushed a hand over Stiles’s hair. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Mm, feel weird. Like ev’rything’s kinda far away. Foggy. Body feels weird. Achy. Tired.” He screwed up his eyebrows like he was trying to think through the fog. “How did I get home?”

“I brought you. Do you want some water?”

Stiles nodded and Derek handed him the glass that he had ready next to the bed. Stiles’s hands shook as he drank, his grip weak.

“What do you remember?”

Stiles blinked and his eyes glazed over, his gaze far off. “I...there was...a bed and…” He blinked again and his eyes re-focused. He turned that focus to Derek. “Were you the growly one?”

Derek couldn’t hold back the delirious huff of humorless laughter that escaped him. Too high and breathy. “Yeah. I was the growly one.”

“You saved me? That guy had...his eyes and...claws?” Stiles’s eyes were wet. “Fuck, Derek…” His words were starting to come a little easier now, the fog lifting a bit. “I... _ fuck. _ That wasn’t just the drugs was it? He...he made me feel…What  _ was _ he?”

That confirmed it, then. The chemical scent that he’d been smelling on Stiles. Derek took that and put it away for now. Compartmentalized. They could deal with that later. Helping Stiles deal with this was more important right now.

Derek reached out and took the glass of water that Stiles had clearly forgotten he was still holding. He set it back on the table.

He scooted closer to Stiles and took one of his hands. Intertwined their fingers.

“He was an incubus. But he can’t hurt you again. I took care of it.”

Stiles nodded a little too frantically and swallowed. “Incubus? Took care of it. Okay.” He nodded again. “Okay.” His eyes welled. “Okay. Shit.” He rubbed at his face, furiously wiping the tears away.

Derek couldn’t resist anymore. He crawled closer to Stiles and settled back against the pillows, spreading his knees and pulling Stiles up so that he lay in the v of Derek’s legs. Stiles leaned against his chest, clutching at his shirt. Derek could see the panic start to set in as Stiles, hazy and groggy though he was, realized what had happened. Derek stroked his hair and shushed him as Stiles shook and breathed deep, hot, heaving breaths into Derek’s neck.

They lay there like that until Stiles drifted off again.

===

Stiles didn’t know how long he slept. When he finally woke up for good, he didn’t check the date or the time. Didn’t ask. 

He did ask about the girl, though. He already knew, really, but he had to ask. Needed to hear the words. When Derek told him, Stiles just nodded. The words barely touched him. Everything was still too distant.

He let Derek lead him to the shower. Let Derek undress him. Let him soap his body up and rinse him off. Leaned into Derek’s fingers as they massaged shampoo into his hair and closed his eyes. Didn’t open them again until Derek had toweled him off and dressed him in warm, soft clothes. He let Derek lead him to the living room and gently push him down onto the couch and wrap him in a blanket. Handed him a mug of hot tea that he didn’t drink, just held, soaking up the warmth.

He felt like an invalid. But he couldn’t make himself do any of those things on his own. He was physically and emotionally drained.

_ Literally, _ he thought, nausea building in his stomach.

His emotions were muted, distant. He couldn’t really feel them.

Except the void.

The fucking ever-present cold itching.

It was back. Distant, not buzzing or clawing or crackling yet, but it was there.

When he noticed it, he couldn’t help it—a sob wracked his body. He couldn’t hold it in.

Derek had been clattering around in the kitchen, no doubt trying to scrounge up something to try and get Stiles to eat. When he heard the sob, he dropped whatever he was doing and came back into the living room.

“Stiles?” He stooped down in front of Stiles, looking him in the eyes.

One look at Derek’s concerned face and Stiles knew he was done lying, done hiding the void. Lying had gotten him where he was now.

“Derek,” he choked. “I need  _ help.” _

Derek’s eyes were wide with alarm. “What is it?” He took the tea mug from Stiles’s shaking hands and set it aside. “Stiles?”

Stiles’s now free hands curled inward to clutch at his middle. “I don’t…” he gasped in another heaving sob. “I don’t know...what to do. I can’t...can’t make it stop. It won’t go  _ away.” _ Breathing was getting harder and harder. The cold was growing to a steady buzz.

“Stiles, just breath.” Derek put a hand on Stiles’s chest. “Everything’s gonna be okay. I’m here. Whatever it is, we can make it better okay? Just breathe.”

Derek’s soothing words actually helped some. His hand was hot on Stiles’s chest, and Stiles leaned into it greedily, letting it warm the chill of his insides a little. Slowly, he got his breathing under control.

“Derek, I…” He didn’t even know where to start.

After a few moments of silence, the worry on Derek’s face deepened.

“Stiles? Can you talk to me?”

“I don’t, I don’t even know where to start, Derek. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.” As he talked, it finally, really hit him. “Jesus, I got that girl  _ killed. _ Derek, I didn’t even know her  _ name. _ I got her killed and didn’t even bother to remember her name. How...her body, where…we have to...did you...” He was devolving to nonsensical babbling.

“Stiles,” Derek took his hand off of Stiles’s chest and he lamented the loss of Derek’s heat. “Look at me.” He cupped Stiles’s face and moved his head so they were eye-to-eye. “That was not your fault.”

“But it  _ was,” _ he said, his voice desperate. “Derek...you don’t...I have to tell you what happened.”

Derek let go of Stiles’s face and moved from his crouch to sit next to him. “Tell me then. Start from the beginning. Did...was it the incubus? All this time? Is that why you’ve been...has he been…”

“What?” Stiles’s brow furrowed. Did Derek think that that’s what had been going on all along? That Stiles was being manipulated by the incubus this whole time?

God. If only he had that excuse.

“No, nonono Derek...that was—I only met him that night. It wasn’t—that’s not—”

“Shh,” Derek shushed him. “Okay, okay.” He ran a hand through Stiles’s hair. “Just slow down. Tell me what’s been going on.”

Stiles took a deep breath, trying to rein in the frenetic pace of his thoughts. When was the last time he’d taken his Adderall? He couldn’t even remember.

“Y-you remember the Nogitsune?”

An incredulous snort escaped Derek’s nose. “Jesus, Stiles. The name rings a bell, yes.” His brow furrowed. “What does  _ that _ have to do with anything?” His eyes widened in alarm again. Stiles was getting good at causing Derek alarm, apparently. “Wait, it’s not...you’re not…”

“No!” Stiles realized his mistake immediately. “No, no, it’s not back, I’m not possessed.” He grabbed Derek’s hand. “Sorry, sorry, I’m not explaining this right.”

Derek heaved a relieved sigh. “It’s fine. Keep going.”

Fuck, this was hard for him to get out. But if he didn’t say it now, he didn’t think he ever would. So he took a breath and just went for it. Didn’t stop to think, just talked, the words coming out all at once, hardly a breath in between. “When...when we came out of the ice bath—me, Scott, and Allison—Deaton told us that we had a darkness around our hearts. And that it would be there forever. I think...when the Nogitsune possessed me, he... _ it... _ made mine...worse. I can feel it. It’s not just darkness, Derek. It’s...it’s  _ void. _ It’s empty, and hungry, and  _ cold. _ I can  _ feel it. _ Sometimes it’s just an itch, but over time it gets worse and worse until it  _ hurts. _ It’s like a freezing crackling in my chest and it’s  _ hungry _ and it wants me to  _ feed it.” _ He sagged a little after the words left him.

Derek dropped into a stunned silence.

“Feed it,” Derek finally said, slowly, his voice distant, his expression unreadable. They had let go of each other’s hands at some point.

Stiles swallowed and nodded, surprised that he’d been able to finally say all of that out loud.

“It wants  _ chaos, _ Derek. But I can’t  _ give it _ the kind of chaos it wants, the kind the Nogitsune can. So I’ve been...doing what I can. The clubs help. It likes the loud music, the dancing, all the moving bodies. Alcohol numbs it and...and pills, and...” He really didn’t want to say the next part, but he had to. He had to be honest. “And sex,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “Sex helps.”

“So you’ve been…” Derek’s expression was still unreadable, his voice steady and neutral. “You’ve been going out. Every night. Getting drunk and high and…”

“And sex,” Stiles admitted. “Just...not every night, I swear. Just once. The sex thing. With...with not-you. Well…” He choked out the next part. “Except for the...the incubus.”

===

“Except for the...the incubus.”

At that last part, Derek brought his hands to his face and rubbed at his eyes.

Fuck. He was still trying to process what Stiles had told him.

One the one hand, Stiles hadn’t been slowly being drained and violated by the incubus all this time.

On the other...he was being slowly eaten away at by this  _ void _ inside of him and hadn’t been coping well with it  _ at all, _ and he’d been going out and taking dangerous risks every night, mixing drugs and alcohol and...sleeping with other people.

And Derek couldn’t let that last part bother him. There were worse things going on right now than their relationship. He could tell that Stiles was having a hard time with that part, but it really was not important to Derek. Not right now. He’d let it hurt later, maybe, somewhere that Stiles couldn’t see.

Right now  _ Stiles _ was hurting. All these months, he was hurting and Derek hadn’t done anything to help him. He’d just...nagged.

And he couldn’t even be mad at Stiles. Not after what had happened with the incubus. The wrecked look on Stiles’s face when he’d said that, like he had  _ cheated _ on Derek with the fucking  _ incubus. _ Like it hadn’t  _ violated him. _ Hadn’t  _ molested _ him.

He felt sick.

“Derek?” Stiles’s voice was small. “Say something.”

Derek stopped rubbing at his eyes and looked at Stiles.

This was all too much for Derek to unpack. He needed to think.

He shook his head and leaned forward. He pressed his lips to Stiles’s forehead and held them there for a long moment in a kiss that he hoped was reassuring, before he stood and walked toward the kitchen. “You need to eat something. You almost died. You need to replenish the energy that thing took. I’m making you soup and you’re going to eat it, and then we can talk more.”

_ “Derek,” _ Stiles stressed. “Derek, please. Just...can you just talk to me?”

“Soup first, Stiles. Don’t argue.”

Stiles huffed in annoyance, but Derek thought he detected a bit of relief in Stiles’s body language. Like he’d relaxed a bit.

He must have expected Derek to be angry. To hate him for lying. Instead Derek was giving him kisses on the forehead and making him soup. But that’s what he needed, so that’s what Derek was giving him.

And then Derek was going to get him some help.

===

When Stiles finished his soup, Derek took the bowl to the kitchen, washed and dried it, and came back to the couch. He sat next to Stiles and crossed his legs.

Stiles waited.

“Why didn’t you just  _ tell _ me?” Derek’s voice was steady. Not angry. A little sad.

Stiles had expected yelling. Expected name calling. Not...this quiet understanding Derek seemed to be giving him. He wasn’t sure the anger wasn’t still coming. That this wasn’t the calm before the storm.

Stiles swallowed. He wrung his hands in the blanket that had fallen from around his shoulders to pool around his waist. “When I was possessed,” he started, “It felt...good. Everything the Nogitsune felt,  _ I _ felt. I couldn’t tell the difference between my emotions and his. I was worried...I was worried that if I told you about the void, you’d  _ see it _ when you looked at me. That you’d  _ know _ that it was a part of me.” Stiles’s eyes were wide and dark. “It...the Nogitsune hurt you, Derek, and it felt  _ good _ when he did it.  _ I _ felt good. And that hunger, that  _ need _ to do terrible things is  _ inside _ of me now, and...and I’m not entirely sure it’s not  _ mine. _ ” He looked down at the floor. He couldn’t look at Derek as he said this. “What if it’s not really even the Nogitsune’s rage?” His voice went quiet. “What if it’s mine?” He spread his hands out in a helpless gesture. “What if I’ve just...cracked?” He let out a choked sob.

After a few seconds of silence, Stiles finally looked back up at Derek…

And finally saw some of that anger he’d been expecting.

===

Derek was trying not to let his anger show. He was determined not to be angry, he really was, but as Stiles spoke, it crept up on him. He wanted to lash out, to tell Stiles how  _ idiotic _ he was being. But that wasn’t productive. That was something the old Derek would have done, the Derek that had always felt like he was wading through ash and grave dirt and his anger was the only thing that kept his head above the ground.

New Derek just closed his eyes and took a breath. Swallowed the anger down.

But he knew when he opened his eyes that Stiles had seen that anger, and he was annoyed with himself for letting it show. Stiles didn’t deserve it. Even if he was an idiot.

“Stiles…”  _ That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, _ he wanted to say.  _ Of course that isn’t you. Of course you don’t want to hurt people. There isn’t an ounce of real rage in your scrawny body. _

But Stiles didn’t need to be reprimanded. He was too fragile right now, too raw.

Instead, he said “Stiles, do you want the bite?”

Stiles’s face twisted in confusion. “What?”

“You heard me. Do you want the bite? If I called Scott right now and asked him to come over here and give you the bite, would you take it? It’s a serious question.”

Stiles’s confusion morphed into anger. Hurt. “What the hell are you talking about? Are you trying to say that would fix this? You  _ know _ I don’t want it.”

“Why not?”

“Derek, what—”

“Why not?” he cut Stiles off. “It  _ might _ fix you. And you’d be faster, stronger, you’d heal. So why not?”

“Because…” Stiles hesitated, tentative understanding beginning to show on his face.

“Because you don’t want to hurt people. You’ve said it before. You’d rather stay a squishy, weak human because you don’t want to risk wolfing out and hurting someone.”

Stiles opened and closed his mouth, but nothing came out. Derek had rendered him speechless for once.

Then Stiles sighed and his face smoothed out. “I get what you’re doing. You’re trying to make me see that it’s not really me. That they aren’t really my feelings, they’re the Nogitsune’s.”

“Is it working?” Derek reached out for one of Stiles’s hands that had started to fidget, calming it.

“I…” Stiles rubbed his face with his free hand. “I think it is. I guess I’ve been kind of an idiot.”

“I’ve been saying that for years,” Derek said with a small smile.

He pulled Stiles into his lap and held him. They sat there like that for a long time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek tries to help Stiles.

Deaton was out of town.

After their talk, Stiles had been exhausted and Derek took him back to bed. He was still sleeping when Derek got up the next morning, so Derek snuck out of their room to call Deaton.

He didn’t answer. He’d set up his voicemail with a message that said he was out of cell service range (which, knowing Deaton, probably meant he was visiting some Druid monastery on some remote mountain top in another country) and would be back on Wednesday.

Wednesday was two days away.

Next, he called Kira.

He didn’t want to spread word of Stiles’s...predicament without consulting him first, so he was as vague as possible.

_ “My mom?” _ Kira asked, surprise coloring her voice.  _ “Why are you looking for my mom?” _

“I need some advice about something. I was hoping she could help.”

Kira’s tone turned suspicious.  _ “Advice about what? Why are you being so vague?” _

Dammit. He was not good at this. “Kira, can you get me in contact with her or not?”

_ “She’s in Japan right now. Kitsune stuff. She’s kind of old school, ‘cause, hello? Thousand-year-old fox spirit? So she doesn’t have a cell phone. I don’t have a way to get ahold of her. Is everything okay?” _

Shit. Deaton was their best option, then. He’d have to find a way to help Stiles get through the next two days on his own.

“Everything’s fine, Kira. Don’t worry about it.” It wasn’t a lie, technically. Stiles was sleeping, he was fine. For now.

_ “Derek, you can’t tell pregnancy hormones not to worry.” _

“Really, Kira. If there’s anything to really worry about, I’ll let you know, okay? Trust me?”

She sighed.  _ “Okay. I trust you. You promise you’ll call if you need us?” _

“Promise.”

He hung up. He hoped he wouldn’t need to make good on that promise.

Derek sat on the couch, wracking his brain trying to think of anyone else who might know enough about Nogitsunes to help them, but Deaton and Noshiko were the only two people who he knew had extensive enough knowledge to be able to figure out how to help Stiles.

They’d just have to wait for Deaton.

Eventually, Derek heard Stiles moving around in the bedroom. After a few minutes, he came padding into the living room and plopped down on the couch next to Derek. He pulled his bare feet up under him and leaned into Derek wordlessly.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked, reaching up to comb a hand through Stiles’s hair.

Stiles shrugged, but didn’t say anything. Derek repressed the urge to sigh. “Stiles? I thought we were on the same page here, about talking about this.”

Stiles huffed and turned his head into Derek’s shoulder, burying his face. “‘m okay,” he mumbled. “It’s not bothering me right now. It gets worse when I get upset, but it’s the worst at night. Especially if I’m alone.”

Derek winced. His job definitely hadn’t helped, then. He’d left Stiles alone almost every night. Alone with the void. He restrained himself from apologizing. He knew his guilt would just upset Stiles, and he’d just said that being upset made it worse.

“I called Deaton.” Stiles raised his head and looked up, expectantly. Derek shook his head. “He’s gone, doesn’t have cell service. He’ll be back in two days.” Stiles paled and closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. “Noshiko was a bust, too. Out of the country, no phone.”

Stiles’s eyes snapped open. “Wait, how do you...did you tell Kira?” Panic lit his face.

Derek wrapped an arm around Stiles’s shoulders and shook him gently. “Stop, don’t worry, I didn’t tell her. She was suspicious and worried, but she doesn’t know what’s going on. I told her I’d let her know if there was anything she needed to worry about.”

Stiles let out a nervous, shaky breath and nodded. “Okay. Thanks. I don’t...I don’t want anyone to know. Not until we get something figured out.”

“I know.” Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’s forehead. “Do you think you can manage that long? Until Deaton gets back?”

Stiles let out another shaky breath. “I don’t...Derek, I don’t know. I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Derek said with a grimace. “What you do you need? What can I do to help?”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t even know. I guess...just keep me distracted for now. Maybe if I stay distracted enough it won’t get bad.” He didn’t sound like he actually believed his own words.

“Okay,” Derek said with a nod that he hoped was enthusiastic. “That’s a start. Any ideas? Movies? Video games? Knitting?” He raised an eyebrow and lifted the corner of his mouth, trying to lighten the mood. That was usually Stiles’s job, but Derek figured it was his turn to contribute for once.

Stiles’s face twisted like he was trying to smile, but failed.

There was a reason this wasn’t normally Derek’s job.

“Actually,” Stiles said. “I’m starving. Maybe we could cook? Make a big breakfast?” Right on cue, Stiles’s stomach growled, loud enough that Derek didn’t even need his werewolf hearing to notice it.

It made sense. The incubus had drained Stiles’s energy, his life-force. His body needed sustenance to replace that energy. He should probably be eating a lot right now.

“That sounds like a great idea.” He shot a glance toward the kitchen. “We don’t have a lot of groceries right now, though. Think you’re up for some shopping?”

Stiles’s gaze went distant for a second, thoughtful, like he was assessing himself. Slowly, he nodded. “I think that might help, actually. Getting out of the house, moving around. Sounds like a good distraction to me.”

===

Their plan worked, for a while. They went shopping for groceries, taking it slow since Stiles was still pretty weak. Slow enough that Derek was almost tempted to just scoop Stiles up and dump him into the shopping cart to wheel around himself, but he managed to refrain, if only for the sake of Stiles’s dignity. And the walking seemed to be doing Stiles good. He was looking slightly less pale the longer they shopped. 

By the time they came home it was already past lunchtime, but they made a huge breakfast anyway, and between Stiles’s supernaturally-affected appetite, and Derek’s absurd werewolf metabolism they actually managed to eat what was probably a big enough breakfast for eight normal people.

They took their time cleaning up and doing the dishes after, Derek washing, and Stiles drying. Derek snuck peaks at Stiles out of the corner of his eye while he scrubbed. He was looking even better now that he’d eaten. The red rims around his eyes were still there, and he was still a little pale, but there seemed to be more going on behind his eyes now; he was more alert, a little more at ease.

But that didn’t last.

After they cleaned up, Stiles decided cleaning was a great distraction.

So they cleaned the whole loft.

From the ceiling to the baseboards.

When they were finally finished, they were  _ both _ exhausted, even Derek’s werewolf stamina couldn’t stand against the torment Stiles had just put him through. He was still nauseous from spending far too long hanging upside down by the back of his knees from the banister and scrubbing the underside of each stair of the loft’s spiral staircase.

“You’ve got to get it all, Derek, or what are we even accomplishing here? We might as well go live in a dumpster if we leave all of that grime, it would be no different. Do you know how many supernatural-creature fluids have probably been spewed up there? And you’ve probably never once thought to scrub any of it off. God, it’s a wonder you haven’t gotten some form of ghoul-cooties by now.”

Needless to say, Stiles definitely seemed like he was feeling more like his old self.

It was when they settled down on the couch for a  _ Lord of the Rings _ marathon that things started to go downhill.

It was almost like clockwork.

When Stiles first moved in, he had insisted that Derek get curtains for the huge windows in the loft—so most of the windows were covered while they watched the hobbits begin their trek through New Zealand, but one of the curtains had been left pushed slightly askew, just enough that they could see the evening sun dipping below the horizon.

And almost the second it slipped under and night settled into the loft, Stiles started to get restless.

Stiles didn’t even make any jokes about Sean Bean’s choice of acting roles when they watched Boromir die, like he normally did. When the credits rolled on  _ Fellowship _ and Derek got up to pop the next disc in, he noticed Stiles clutching a tight fist in his stomach, like it was hurting him.

Derek settled back down on the couch and put his arm around Stiles, pulling him closer.

“Okay?” he murmured into Stiles’s hair.

It took Stiles a minute to answer. Finally he sighed and shook his head. “It’s getting worse.”

Derek leaned back to look at Stiles. “What do you want to do?”

Stiles groaned in frustration and shifted so that he was laying curled on his side, his head in Derek’s lap. He yanked at his hair with both hands. “I want to  _ numb it.” _

Derek sighed. “I know.” He pulled Stiles’s hands away and ran a hand through Stiles’s hair, taming it back down. “Can you try something else for now? Anything?”

Derek wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t going to let Stiles suffer needlessly. If nothing else worked, if the void became unbearable and Stiles couldn’t cope, Derek was prepared to give him what he wanted, as unhealthy as that may be. Only until Deaton got back and could help them find another solution.

But he wanted to try and help Stiles find another way to cope, if he could.

“I don’t know.” Stiles sat up, suddenly. “I need to move. I need to be doing something.”

Without warning, he was moving from his spot on the couch and contorting himself to climb into Derek’s lap, straddling him. He twisted his hands in Derek’s hair and pressed their mouths together in a hard, bruising kiss. He snaked his tongue into Derek’s mouth and Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’s waist, pulling him in closer. He slid a hand under Stiles’s shirt and up his back, scratching slowly with blunt nails.

Stiles started to move, grinding his hips, the friction sending little exhilarating jolts through Derek.

And then, as suddenly as he’d started, Stiles jerked away, a small panicked gasp slipping from his mouth, his face paling. He flopped off of Derek and slid down to the floor.

“Shit. Shitshitshit. Fuck,” Stiles gasped.

“Stiles?” Derek slid off of the couch to crouch next to Stiles. “What just happened?”

“Fuck. Fucking goddammit. Fucking fuck. Fuck that fucking…” Stiles was shaking, tears welling. “I’m sorry. Fuck, Derek, I’m so sorry. I can’t...I don’t think I can…”

Understanding hit Derek like a ton of bricks and his stomach turned. His shoulders drooped and he dropped his head to press his forehead against Stiles’s. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just too soon, okay? We should probably hold off on that stuff for a while.”

Fucking incubus. Derek would kill him again if he could.

Actual tears were falling now, fat droplets dripping down Stiles’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m all kinds of fucked up, Derek,” he hiccupped.

Derek ran a soothing hand down Stiles’s back, their foreheads still pressed together. “I love you any way you come, Stiles. Don’t be sorry.”

Stiles’s head rocked back, their foreheads separating, shock on his face. For a split second, Derek thought he’d made a mistake, wished he could take the last two seconds back, but then Stiles was surging forward, his mouth on Derek’s, the kiss deep and hot, and then he was pulling back again, his eyes meeting Derek’s. “I love you, too.”

===

The void was so cold it was  _ burning. _ Worse than ever before.

They’d tried to settle back down and watch  _ The Two Towers, _ but Stiles couldn’t focus. The itching had escalated to a buzz, and then a crackle, and then a new sensation, a freezing, popping  _ fizzing _ sensation that was so loud in his head that he could almost physically  _ hear _ it. It was so strong it had started to obscure his other senses. His hearing was slightly muffled, his vision taking on a weird, distant staticky feel. He wanted to rip his own skin off.

He wanted to rip  _ Derek’s _ skin off. Wanted to break things, wanted to feel a blade in his hand, wanted to feel something tearing between his teeth, wanted to  _ fuck. _ The void needed violence, needed  _ chaos. _

It had  _ never _ been this bad before. Or maybe it had, maybe it had been building and building all this time, he just hadn’t noticed because he’d been able to keep it at bay. Until now.

He realized, with some effort, that Derek was talking to him, his tone low and urgent. He felt a pressure on his hands and looked down to see that Derek had taken both of his hands in an iron grip.

There was blood under Stiles’s nails.

When the fuck had that happened?

“Stiles,  _ stop, _ you have to stop, you’re hurting yourself,” Derek was saying, over and over.

Stiles blinked and came back to himself a little. A stinging pain managed to break through the loud fizzing and he realized that he’d been scratching deep, bloody gouges into his own arms.

The pain seemed to have taken the edge off of the cold. Barely. Just enough to bring the world back into focus some.

“Derek,” he gasped, his breathing ratcheting up in panic. “Help me. Please, please,” he sobbed between gasps. “I’ve never felt...it  _ hurts, _ you have to  _ do something.” _

“Stiles,  _ I don’t know what to do,” _ Derek hissed desperately. “I don’t—” He screwed up his face in thought and Stiles was starting to lose himself to the fizzing again, the world starting to go distant and staticky once more, when suddenly the cold started to ease. Just a tiny bit, just enough to keep him present and lucid.

He noticed black veins creeping up Derek’s wrists and arms from where held Stiles’s hands.

“You’re, oh…” Stiles wheezed, his breathing calming down some.

The fizzing had died down to a crackle, but it was still unbearable. They still needed to do something.

Derek took a breath, already looking peaked. “I...I got something. Just in case,” he said. “I need to…” He looked down at their joined hands and then back up at Stiles. “I need to go get it. I’ll have to stop pain draining you for a minute. Will you be okay? You won’t hurt yourself?”

Stiles shook his head. There was no way he could make that promise. “Just do it,” he grunted. “Go get it. Whatever it is, just hurry.”

Derek looked like he wanted to argue, but he bit off whatever he was going to say and then let go of Stiles’s hands.

The cold rushed back, the fizzing growing louder. The world went distant again and Stiles felt his throat tearing in a choked scream.

Then just as quickly, Derek was back, grabbing one of Stiles’s hands, and the fizzing died down again.

“Here,” Derek said, holding something out to Stiles.

An orange pill bottle. Stiles couldn’t read the label through his staticky vision, but he didn’t care. Whatever the pills were, Derek thought they would help, so Stiles reached out with his free hand, his other hand still grasped in one of Derek’s, and twisted the cap off while Derek held the bottle firm. He tossed the cap aside and held out his hand. Derek tipped one pill into it and Stiles tossed it back, dry swallowing.

He took a few deep breaths and let the pain drain do its work before bringing his focus back to Derek. He’d set the pill bottle aside and had both hands on Stiles now, the veins creeping up his arms again. His face was turning ashen, his breathing coming heavier.

“Derek,” Stiles panted, “You’re gonna pass out if you keep that up. You have to stop. It won’t be good for either of us. I’ll be okay just...just hold me down. Until the pill kicks in. So I can’t hurt myself.”  _ Or you, _ he wanted to add, but thought better of it.

“Stiles—”

_ “Don’t argue,”  _ Stiles growled. Derek wasn’t the only one capable of giving that order.

Derek grimaced, but he let go.

The fizzing roared back.

Stiles found himself flipped onto his back on the floor, Derek straddling him, holding him down by his arms splayed out on either side of his body.

Stiles bucked and writhed, trying to throw Derek off. The fizzing was unbearable, the cold eating him alive from the inside. He wanted to rip Derek’s fucking face off for holding him captive like this. More than once he snapped up to bite, but Derek just pulled out of reach. He thought he could hear the low din of Derek’s voice murmuring nonsensical words that were probably meant to be soothing. He wanted to shove those words back down his throat.

Time passed. He didn’t know how much. It felt like an eternity of agony, trapped in a freezing cold hell he didn’t think he’d ever escape. Then slowly, bit by bit, he came back to himself, the cold easing, going distant, numb. The fizzing eased to a buzz, but he didn’t care as much about it now. He felt Derek relax as Stiles’s body slumped back onto the ground, his muscles gradually going loose. They were both panting, exhausted.

They stayed where they were, just breathing for a while.

Finally Derek spoke. “Better?”

Stiles nodded wordlessly. “Some,” he breathed. “Give me another one.”

Derek shook his head and opened his mouth, but before he could protest, Stiles interrupted him.

_ “Derek,” _ he barked. “We don’t have time for this. Unless you have a bottle of Jack Daniels or three lying around, just give me another fucking pill. I’m not going to overdose, and a fucking  _ possible _ pending addiction is so much more maneagable than leftover hell demon frostbite.”

Derek growled low in his chest, but he didn’t argue. He tipped out another pill and handed it to Stiles. Stiles took it without a word and swallowed it. Derek climbed off of him and went to retrieve the discarded lid, jamming it back onto the bottle. Then he disappeared for a few seconds, presumably stashing the bottle somewhere he thought Stiles couldn’t find it.

He came back and held a hand out to Stiles. Stiles took it and let Derek haul him up off the floor. He wobbled a bit on his feet, but Derek steadied him and then Stiles dropped back down onto the couch.

He could still feel the cold clawing at him. It was distant, but still irritating. He could handle it for now, but not if it got any worse. Hopefully the second pill would kick in soon.

Derek was still standing there, watching him.

Stiles huffed. “Sit down, you’re making me dizzy.” He winced, finally noticing how raw his voice was.

Derek must have noticed too, because he didn’t sit down. He turned and disappeared into the kitchen, coming back with a glass of water. Stiles took it, grateful, and gulped it down. Derek took the empty glass and set it aside, then finally eased himself down onto the couch gently, as though Stiles would break if he moved too quickly.

Stiles scooted away from Derek, toward the opposite end of the couch and turned so that his knees were pulled up against his chest, his back against the couch’s arm. He cleared his throat.

“So, um. I guess it’s gotten more serious than I had...noticed,” he said sheepishly. “I definitely do not want a repeat of that.”

Derek let out a long-suffering sigh and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “No,” he said quietly. “Neither do I.”

Stiles muscles had started to loosen even more. His body was tingling faintly, and he noted that the void was significantly quieter. Almost enough to completely ignore. Quiet waves of calm euphoria began lapping at him gently. The second pill had definitely kicked in. Night much improved.

He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. He stretched his legs out slowly, pressing his bare toes against the side of Derek’s thigh. He rubbed them back and forth in small movements, enjoying the feeling of the fabric of Derek’s sweats against them.

When he opened his eyes, Derek was looking at him, an odd, sad expression on his face.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“That gross pitying look you’re giving me. Stop. I don’t want it, and I don’t need it.”

Derek’s sad expression transformed into one of faint annoyance and Stiles snorted. “There ya go. That’s more like it. Back to regularly scheduled programming.” He couldn’t suppress a small, delirious giggle. The panic and pain had lifted, leaving him relaxed and giddy.

He scrunched down further on the couch so that he was all the way on his back, his head on the armrest, his feet sliding into Derek’s lap.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, as a thought occurred to him. “Where did you even get those pills anyway?” His eyes narrowed. “Did you  _ steal _ them?” Derek rolled his eyes but didn’t answer. Stiles gasped scandalously. “You  _ did! _ You dirty thief. Not only am I in a relationship with an older man, but one who steals narcotics.” He lay the back of his hand against his forehead like a Victorian damsel. “What would my father, the Sheriff say?”

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice serious. “Don’t joke.”

Stiles barked a laugh. “I’ll joke if I want to. I’m definitely allowed some jokes, here.”

Derek just growled and looked away, staring blankly at the TV. The movie had finished once already while Stiles was...having his episode, and it had started over again on its own.

“Where did you even get  _ time _ to steal them?” He scrunched his brow. “I’ve been with you, like twenty-four seven. 

_ “Stiles.” _

“Okay, okay,” Stiles raised his hands in surrender. “Shutting up about it.” Seriously, Derek must have been some kind of secret ninja to have slipped away to get the pills without Stiles noticing. His boyfriend was a secret ninja drug thief. He was the best.

Derek shook his head and lay a hand on Stiles’s knee. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re doing much better, I take it?”

Stiles smiled lazily and hummed an affirmative. He was doing  _ so much better. _ Void who?

Derek’s hand felt good on his knee. He wiggled his leg a little, prompting Derek to start moving his hand, rubbing Stiles’s knee. He groaned quietly and closed his eyes.

He must have lost a little time, because when he opened his eyes again, Derek had moved on from his knee and had ahold of one of the feet Stiles had plopped into his lap, digging his thumb into the arch.

“Mmm,” Stiles hummed contentedly. “I should get possessed more often if that’s what it takes to get a foot rub.”

_ “Stiles.” _ Derek’s voice was getting more exasperated.

Stiles just giggled. “Don’t be so touchy, Derek.  _ You _ need to relax. Too bad werewolves don’t get to have any real fun.”

Derek stopped rubbing Stiles’s foot and shoved it out of his lap. Stiles winced. He deserved that. He was being kind of mean.

“Sorry, sorry. That was too far. I’ll stop.”

He wiggled his foot hesitantly back into Derek’s lap and Derek huffed an annoyed laugh. He resumed the foot massage. “You’re even more annoying when you’re high, I didn’t think that was possible.”

Stiles grinned. “You loooovvve me, though,” he drawled. He did. Derek loved him. He’d said that.

Derek groaned and glared up at the ceiling like it alone understood his suffering. “Don’t make me regret saying that, Stilinski.”

“El-oh-vee—oof.”

He was interrupted with a wack to the face from a throw pillow.

“If I had the equilibrium necessary for a pillow fight,” he said, voice muffled beneath the pillow. “It would be so over for you right now, Hale.” He wiggled his head until the pillow fell off, too lazy to reach up and push it off with his hands. The room spun a bit. Too much head wiggling.

Despite his annoyance, Derek was still massaging Stiles’s feet. It was starting to feel  _ really _ good. Stiles was starting to feel  _ really _ good. He slid his free foot in Derek’s lap until it was positioned against the bulge in Derek’s sweats. Just the feeling of the cloth rubbing against Stiles’s skin sent pleasant little shivers through him. He started rubbing his foot back and forth, slowly, stroking it until he felt Derek twitch in his pants. A small sound escaped Derek’s throat and he pressed himself more into Stiles’s foot. Stiles picked up the pace.

Suddenly, Derek reached down and grabbed Stiles’s foot, gently stilling it. “Wait. Stiles,” he said, his voice tight. “Stop. I don’t...I don’t want it like this. Not after…”

Stiles let out a groan of frustration. “Fuck the stupid incubus,” he said bluntly. Derek twitched at the word, but Stiles was too far gone to care about any of that anymore. “I  _ want _ it Derek.”

“I don’t,” Derek said gently. “Not like this.”

Stiles snorted. “Okay, but this is probably the only way you’re gonna get it for a while. Sober Stiles is definitely gonna be no-touchy when he gets back. He’s a traumatized little shit.” Wow. Okay. Definitely maybe crossing a line there, but fuck it. He didn’t care. The magic of pharmaceuticals.

He did feel a distant pang of regret when he saw how Derek paled, though.

Stiles pushed himself up into a sitting position, pulling his feet out of Derek’s lap and putting them on the ground. The world tilted on its axis and he fumbled for purchase, grabbing onto Derek’s arm. He leaned into him and tucked his feet back up under himself. He buried his face into Derek’s neck and Derek reflexively wrapped an arm around him. “Sorry, Der,” he mumbled, curling into Derek’s side. “You prolly thought I already didn’t have a brain-to-mouth filter, but now you get to see what tha’s  _ really _ like.” His words were possibly starting to slur a bit. He realized he had closed his eyes, but didn’t remember when he’d done it.

Derek rubbed his shoulder. “Just go to sleep, Stiles. Everything will get better, I promise. We’ll find a way to make everything better.” His voice was sad. Why was he sad? Everything was fine. Stiles was floating. He wished Derek could float, too. Maybe that’s why he was sad.

“Don’ be sad, Der,” he said softly. “Old Der was sad. Y’re better now. Right?” He fumbled blindly, reaching for Derek’s hand. “Arn’t you?”

Derek squeezed his hand. Stiles felt him press a kiss in his hair. “Yeah, Stiles. I’m better now.” His voice was watery. “Sleep.”

Stiles let himself sink.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes to a head.

The next day went about as well as the previous.

“I think we need to call Melissa,” Derek said, holding up a hand in expectation of Stiles’s protests. “You can’t keep taking this stuff, I don’t know how to dose it properly. We need her advice, Stiles. Just let her help.”

===

They ended up at Deaton’s clinic. Melissa wasn’t thrilled with the idea of drugging Stiles, but she knew she was out of her depth in this situation, so she agreed. 

They all had keys to the clinic in case of emergency. This qualified.

The clinic was Melissa’s idea. There would be drugs there they could use. Not exactly the ideal kind, but she could make it work, she said.

They waited as long as the could, but once the sun was down, it was the worst it had been yet.

There was a room in the back of the clinic that they had long ago set up as a makeshift hospital room, even equipped with a hospital bed for when one of the members of the pack was inevitably seriously injured and wouldn’t be exactly welcome at an actual human hospital.

Derek was holding Stiles’s flailing body down on that bed when Melissa came in with a needle.

Through the freezing cold hatred of the void, Stiles distantly felt a sharp pinch at the crook of his arm, and warmth flooded his veins. Much more quickly than with anything else he’d used to numb the void, the fizzing died away and he sank back into the bed, his body going limp and his breathing evening out. The void was distant, so distant, and quiet. “Okay, kiddo,” he heard Melissa say softly from somewhere up above him. “Just relax, you’re okay.” He felt a warm hand brush his clammy forehead. He closed his eyes.

“Stiles?” He heard a timid voice. Deep and faintly gruff. The sound of the voice filled him with a warmth that he felt deep in his stomach, a fluttery, happy feeling. Derek. But Derek’s voice had never sounded like that before, hesitant and small. It shouldn’t sound like that.

Stiles tried to answer, but he was so tired. He couldn’t make his mouth move, couldn’t form words with his tongue. The most he managed was a small sound, a quiet moan through his nose.

“Is he…” Derek trailed off, his voice focusing somewhere away from Stiles.

“He’s fine, honey.” Melissa. “It wasn’t a large dose, he’s probably not even asleep, just sedated. It’ll wear off a little after a while. We’ll need to stay with him tonight and we’ll probably need to readminister the dose a few times. This stuff isn’t really something I can put on a drip, it’s not really the best kind of drug for that, and it’s hard to dose the right amount to keep him under, it’s too easy to overdose. Periodically readministering smaller doses is going to be the safest thing.”

There were more words after that, but Stiles didn’t listen. He let himself float away. He was still faintly aware of everything going on around him, but it was far away, too far to really bother paying attention to, none of it really mattered where he was.

He didn’t know how long he floated there, in that quiet place, but at some point, the talking stopped and he felt a warm weight settle over his front. Something tickled his nose and he managed to drag his heavy eyelids open. Dark, raven fur filled his vision and he reached a hand up to brush at it. It was thick and coarse, and he sank his fingers into its warmth. A low, keening whine rumbled through the weight on his chest. Derek. Derek’s wolf was draped over him, keeping him warm. He blinked a few times until he could focus enough to make out Derek’s face, green eyes peering at him above his black muzzle.

He wanted to comfort the wolf, stop its sad whining, but he couldn’t muster the energy to speak. He just stroked its fur in long, soothing caresses, trying to comfort through touch. Eventually Derek settled, his whines quieting.

When the wolf was settled, Stiles closed his eyes and let himself doze. It wasn’t a heavy sleep, he didn’t dream, and he came back to awareness several times, Derek’s comforting weight still over him. 

Eventually, he came fully awake, the haze starting to lift. He didn’t feel as heavy, didn’t feel like he was floating any longer. At some point, Derek had fallen asleep, and Stiles just watched his large, lean torso rise and fall with each deep breath. He wondered, faintly amused, if he let Derek sleep long enough if he would start to twitch and wiggle, like dogs did when they dreamed.

Melissa had left the room some time ago, probably before Derek had removed his clothes and shifted.

He could feel the drug wearing off more and more as time passed. The void was starting to tickle again. He was determined to tough it out as long as he could this time. Derek was sleeping so peacefully, he didn’t want to wake him.

He lay there for a long time, the cold of the void slowly building and building until it was almost unbearable again. Derek must have heard or felt the change in Stiles’s heart rate, and his head lifted off of Stiles’s chest, his eyes instantly alert.

“I’m okay,” Stiles said, but his tight throat gave away the lie.

In one graceful movement, Derek lifted himself up and dropped swiftly to the floor. Stiles let out a little gasp at the loss of the wolf’s immense heat, realizing as the cold seeped in just how much Derek’s warmth had been helping. Derek bounded out of the room and disappeared.

Stiles tried not to let panic set in as the void clawed harder at him, the static fizzing growing louder in his head.

Moments later, Derek returned, still in wolf form, Melissa following closely behind.

“Good dog, Lassie,” Stiles managed to choke out with a strained laugh.

_ Really, Stiles, a Lassie joke? _ Stiles knew him well enough that, even in his wolf form, all Derek needed were his eyes and a bemused huff to convey those words and an air of endless disappointment.

Melissa reached him and put one hand on his wrist and another across his forehead. “Starting to feel bad again, kiddo?” she asked, smoothing his sweaty hair away from his forehead.

“Melissa, I’m not...a kid anymore...ya know,” he wheezed. He was starting to lose control of his breathing.

She snorted. “Stiles, you and Scott will always be my kids, no matter how old you are.” Her voice was fond. “I’m going to give you another shot now, okay?”

He shook his head. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down enough to form complete sentences. “Can...can we try a smaller dose...this time? I don’t want...to fall asleep. I’m sick of sleeping so much.”

“Stiles, honey, it’s the middle of the night. You’re gonna have to sleep at some point. I think it’s better if you do. But I’ll make this dose a little smaller. Not the next one, though, okay? I can only do this so many times, and it’ll be better if you can sleep through most of this so we don’t have to keep redosing.” Melissa patted his arm and then pulled out a bottle and a syringe.

Stiles swallowed. “Okay.” He turned his head. “Derek?” He swept his eyes around to find Derek on the other side of his bed. He reached out and twisted his hand into Derek’s fur. Derek shifted forward to lay his huge head in Stiles’s lap.

Then Stiles felt a pinch again and the world softened, the void quieting once more. He sank down, just like before, but this time he kept his eyes open, tried to fight the lethargy. He found he could move his mouth this time, his tongue just able to form words.

“Mel?” He called, just as Melissa was turning to leave the room again. He held out a hand for her.

She turned back and came to his bedside, slipping her small, strong hand into his. He squeezed. “‘M sorry,” he whispered. “Sorry you hafta be here. Your day off. Sorry I’m such a fuck-up.”

“Stiles Stilinski,” she said, squeezing his hand hard and cupping his face in her other hand. “You are not a fuck up. We are  _ family, _ and I will always come when you call. And don’t you think we aren’t having a long conversation about this when you aren’t stoned.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead and turned to leave. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me.” 

She disappeared through the door to the other room, but after a second Stiles heard her call out. “And watch your mouth!”

===

True to her word, the next time Melissa came in, she filled the syringe more than she had all night. “This won’t keep you under on its own,” she said, “But hopefully it will help you fall asleep. If we’ve timed it right, you might even be able to sleep until sunup. Try to get some rest, okay? We’re going to try to call Deaton again for you in the morning.”

She made him drink a bottle of water, and then tucked him in like she used to when he was little.

One last pinch and then his body was  _ so _ heavy. His eyes closed against his will and his head spun in a lazy whirlwind. He was barely aware of Derek hopping onto the bed and laying his weight on Stiles, settling in and getting comfortable for the night.

Stiles let himself float for a long time. Eventually he drifted away.

===

When Stiles woke up, the first thing that hit his awareness was the cold. No, he wasn’t just cold, he was  _ freezing. _ The thin t-shirt and sweats he was wearing did nothing to shield against it. His whole body was shaking with violent shivers; he must have shaken himself awake. His teeth chattered, his bones ached. His bare feet and hands were completely numb. Derek’s warm weight had disappeared along with the soft warmth of the bed beneath him. He wasn’t in the clinic anymore, he couldn’t be.

With effort, he sat up and struggled through the shivering to blink the fuzz of sleep from his eyes.

Blinking didn’t help. He was in complete, utter darkness. He turned his head in every direction, straining his tired eyes in the dark to no avail.

His mind reeled. He tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he could recall was falling into a drug-induced sleep with Derek laying on top of him.

How did he get here? Where the fuck  _ was _ here?

It was a dream. It had to be a dream.

He looked down at his hands, trying to count his fingers. He strained his eyes until they hurt trying to see in the dark, but it was useless. He tried to tap each finger on the ground, one at a time, counting by feeling, but his hands were numb, useless dead weights. He thought he counted five on each finger. Did his left one have six? He couldn’t  _ tell. _

He tried to calm his ragged breathing. Panicking wasn’t going to help. He needed to figure out what the fuck was going on. Needed to find some way out of the darkness.

He rolled over onto his knees and felt around with numb hands, searching. The ground gave way slightly under his knees. Dirt? Was he outside? Nowhere outside could possibly be this dark, not even on a moonless night. The darkness was too complete, too suffocating. It was an utter lack of light like nothing he’d ever experienced.

That thought set his heart rate up a notch. His breathing turned ragged again.

Was he blind?

He reached up and brushed his numb, shaking fingers against his eyes. Nothing covered them. They seemed to still be in his head, at least, that was all he could tell.

It didn’t matter. He couldn’t worry about that right now. All that mattered was that he couldn’t see.

_ Breathe, Stiles. Calm down. Concentrate. _

He felt around some more, crawling forward slowly. He crawled for several minutes, expecting at some point to hit some kind of wall, a tree, a rock,  _ anything, _ but nothing changed. Even the ground remained the same, no leaves, sticks, or holes cropped up as he crawled. It didn’t even feel like the ground sloped in any particular direction. It was too pristine, too unnatural.

He had no idea how long he crawled. It was impossible to count the passage of time, he had no reference.

He was getting colder and colder. It was getting hard to concentrate through the shivers wracking his body. Everything was growing numb at this point, not just his hands and feet. His throat hurt from gasping in the frigid air. His crawl had slowed to a slow shuffle forward, his limbs struggling to respond.

At least he was still shivering. He knew once your body stopped trying to warm itself up by shivering, that was it. You stopped feeling the cold, your dying mind convinced you that you were warm, and then you died. He tried to hold on to that thought. Shivering was good. Feeling cold was good. It meant he was alive. Not dying yet.

He kept crawling. Slowly. He had to reach... _ something _ eventually.

In all the time he’d been in this dark, cold place, he hadn’t heard a single sound except his own desperate breathing and his raging heartbeat in his ears. 

Until a quiet, high-pitched tittering sound rang out in the darkness.

He stopped abruptly, dropping onto his butt in shock. He angled and tilted his head in every direction, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from.

Somewhere to his left.

He shifted back onto his knees and started a slow crawl in that direction.

His instincts were screaming at him to crawl  _ away _ from the sound. There was something about it. Something that set off alarm bells in his head. It was downright  _ creepy. _ Whatever the source of it was, it wasn’t something he wanted to meet.

But he ignored the dread that was settling into his gut. That sound was the only external stimuli he’d encountered in this place, save for the cold and his own body’s noises. He didn’t have a choice but to follow it.

The sound grew louder as he drew closer. The louder it got the more it sounded like…

Laughing. Sharp and grating to his ears. It couldn’t be coming from a human throat, it was too high and stilted, too rasping. Like an animal that was trying to make human sounds.

When the sound swelled so loud he knew he was nearing dangerously close, he halted. He couldn’t bring himself to move any further towards it, his own fear had grown thick in the air. Freezing shivers still wracked his body, but he’d be shaking even if he had been warm.

Then the laughing stopped abruptly.

Two tiny pinpricks of yellow light appeared in the darkness before him.

Firefly yellow. Just like the Oni.

“Wait.” His own voice sounded strange to his ears, high and tight. Fear choked him. “Nonono. He’s gone. He’s  _ gone.” _ He couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t happening. They’d gotten rid of the Nogitsune, it couldn’t be here. But the Oni would only show up if...

The yellow lights blinked slowly.

Not fireflies.

Eyes.

Then suddenly he could see the creature they belonged to. Though there was still no source of light, it was like he could suddenly just...see in the dark. The creature stepped forward slowly, revealing itself.

Not the Oni.

A fox. Its fur peppered black and white. It looked haggard, emaciated. Its eyes glowing yellow.

Not the golden-yellow of a werewolf. Deep firefly yellow.

The fox opened its mouth in a needle-sharp grin and it hunkered down, lowering its body menacingly, like it was preparing to lunge.

Stiles fell back onto his butt and scrambled backwards, trying frantically to push himself away from the fox.

The fox leapt at him and Stiles—

===

Derek had shifted into his wolf when he and Melissa got Stiles settled at the clinic. He’d felt helpless watching Stiles suffer. It made him feel vulnerable and he couldn’t handle feeling like that in front of someone other than Stiles. He knew it was something he needed to work on, but now wasn’t the time. So he shifted. He knew Stiles wouldn’t mind, knew his presence would be a comfort to him in either form, and he’d been right. Stiles hadn’t said a word, just sank his hands into Derek’s fur and held on like he was a lifeline.

He lay like that now, atop Stiles’s sleeping body. Stiles had slipped into sleep at some point, and Derek was grateful for it. He’d hoped that Stiles would be able to sleep until the morning. Then Deaton would be back and he’d have answers. Solutions.

But that didn’t happen.

Stiles had only been asleep for a few hours when suddenly his whole body  _ bucked, _ knocking Derek to the floor. Stiles’s screams ripped through the air and he rolled, tumbling off the bed, landing hard on the side opposite Derek.

Derek shifted back hurriedly, his bones cracking loudly as his body changed shape. He leapt over the bed and tried to grab ahold of Stiles. He was thrashing on the floor, his eyes still closed, screams tearing his throat.

Derek finally succeeded in grabbing him, pinning his flailing arms to the floor. He called his names several times, shaking him, until finally,  _ finally _ Stiles blinked his eyes open, his screams choking off into strangled, mewling sobs.

He blinked several times, tears pouring down his face. “Derek?” he gasped out. The sound ripped into Derek’s chest. Stiles’s voice was pitifully small and scared.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Derek soothed, trying to keep his own voice calm. “I’ve got you, you’re okay. Everything is okay.”

“Derek, he’s back,” Stiles croaked. His face twisted into hopeless anguish. “He’s back, Derek. He’s inside of me, I can  _ feel it.” _ His eyes were wide and desperate. “You can’t let it happen again Derek, you  _ can’t. _ I would rather die, do you hear me? I don’t want to hurt anyone again. Please, please…” Stiles broke off into sobs, nonsensical babbling spilling from his mouth in between breaths. Derek still held him pinned into place, but Stiles was struggling weakly against him.

“Stiles,” Derek had to raise his voice to be heard above Stiles’s begging cries. “Stiles,  _ listen _ to me! He’s not back. The Nogitsune is gone, it was just a dream. You were sleeping, it was a  _ dream, _ Stiles.”

“Derek!” Melissa appeared, ruffled from sleep, her voice frantic. “Derek what happened?”

Stiles still writhed and sobbed beneath him, still fighting weakly to get loose, inconsolable. “Melissa,” Derek said, desperation tinging his voice. “Help him.”

Melissa nodded and fumbled in her pockets, pulling out the bottle and a packaged syringe. She tore the syringe out of the plastic and plunged it into the bottle, practiced hands steady even in anxiety.

She drew the filled syringe out of the bottle and knelt next to Stiles. She stabbed the needle into his arm and pushed in on the piston.

Slowly, Stiles’s sobs eased and his body relaxed, his struggling ceased. He lay there gasping, tears still streaming down his face. He blinked up at Derek, unfocused. “Please, Derek,” he moaned weakly. “Please, please.”

“Okay, Stiles,” Derek soothed, brushing soothing caresses wherever he could. “You’re okay. It’s almost morning, okay? We can tough it out until then. You’re gonna be fine.” He tried to keep the shaking out of his voice. His words were meant to convince himself as much as Stiles.

“No, no, no,” Stiles mumbled, blinking hard, trying to keep his eyes open. “You hafta...it’s not working anymore, I can still feel it. He’s back. I...I can feel him coming, it’s not just the void anymore, Der, it’s  _ him.” _ Stiles reached up, fumbling until he had Derek’s shirt gripped in weak fists. “Lock me up. You hafta...please…” Stiles’s eyes lost focus as he spoke and his grip slipped on Derek’s shirt. His words devolved into agitate moans and half-choked sobs.

Derek made a decision. It wasn’t one he wanted to make, but Stiles trusted him to do what he needed. If it would help put Stiles’s mind at ease…

Without a word he stood. He grabbed the pair of sweats and the t-shirt he’d left on the chair next to Stiles’s bed and pulled them on quickly. Neither he nor Melissa had been embarrassed by his post-shift nakedness. She was a nurse and he was...used to it. But they couldn’t stay here anymore, and he couldn’t walk out naked.

He bent and scooped Stiles up into his arms. Stiles mumbled a delirious protest, but didn’t fight him.

“What are you doing?” Melissa asked, tears in her throat. Seeing Stiles like this again wasn’t easy for any of them.

“We need to take him somewhere he feels safe. Somewhere he can’t... _ escape, _ if...if…” He couldn’t say it.

Melissa put a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and wet. “You don’t think he’s really…”

Derek pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I don’t know. But we can’t take any chances.”

===

Stiles was never going to forgive him.

He’d gone over other options in his head. The boiler room at the high school. The train depot. The underground tunnels. But none of those places were safe. None were as secure.

It was their only option.

The sheriff’s department.

Derek and Melissa loaded an increasingly agitated, but still incoherent Stiles into the Camaro and drove to the department. 

Derek knew that Sheriff Stilinski was on duty tonight. It was pure luck, he hadn’t been working night shift as often these days. Everything was going so wrong that  _ something _ had to go in their favor for once. This was it.

Melissa left Derek and Stiles in the car and hurried inside. Derek climbed into the backseat with Stiles and pulled him half into his lap. Stiles was still mumbling deliriously, his eyes fluttering and his hands moving in weak twitches, faint shadows of the usual frenetic nervous ticks and fidgeting that Derek was so accustomed to seeing. Derek reached out for one of those hands and stilled it with his own, intertwining their fingers. He buried his nose in Stiles’s hair and shushed him gently.

They sat there like that for a while. Waiting.

Eventually Derek noticed movement at the entrance to the building. Several deputies were streaming out of the front door in a group. They walked slowly; no hint of alarm or panic in their gates. Some of them chatted casually. They were all carrying various bags, coats, or lunch boxes. Leaving for the night. The Sheriff must have come up with some excuse to get them all to go home.

Derek let out a sigh of relief. He’d been worried they wouldn’t be able to get the building to themselves.

When all of the deputies had gotten into their respective vehicles and driven off, Derek saw Melissa’s head peak out from the front door. She waved him in.

Derek climbed out of the car and gathered a grumbling Stiles up into his arms.

“Mm,” Stiles mumbled as they walked through the parking lot. He blinked and looked around, confused. “Where?” He looked up at Derek.

“Somewhere safe,” was all Derek was willing to tell him. “Don’t worry about it, just rest. Can you sleep?”

Stiles reached a shaking hand up and gripped Derek’s shirt hard.  _ “No,” _ he said firmly. “No sleeping. Don’t make me.” 

Suddenly, Stiles groaned and shuddered in Derek’s arms. “Uhn,” he complained. “Getting worse.” He sucked in a harsh breath, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Shit,” he gasped. “Lot worse. Derek…” He buried his face into Derek’s chest, both hands holding Derek’s shirt in a white-knuckled grip.

Shit.

“You’re okay,” Derek said, trying and failing to sound reassuring. “It’s only a few hours until morning. Just hang on.”

He really, really hoped that the sunrise would make this go away.

They reached the door and Melissa pulled them inside.

The Sheriff was waiting, pale and shaken. Melissa must have explained everything.

“Jesus, son,” he said when he saw Stiles. “What the hell is this? What’s wrong with my kid, Derek?”

Derek felt a sudden wave of guilt. It was his fault it had gone this far. His fault for not pushing Stiles to tell him sooner. He shook his head in answer, his throat closing. “Waiting on Deaton,” he said gruffly.

“Dad?” Stiles peaked out from his hiding place in Derek’s shirt. “Wha...Derek what did you  _ do?” _

Stiles was definitely going to kill him.

“You wanted us to lock you up. This is our only option.”

Stiles opened his mouth, no doubt to yell at Derek for daring to tell his dad about this, but his words choked off into a muffled cry. His whole body stiffened and Derek had to fumble to keep his grip on him.

The Sheriff’s face tightened with alarm and concern.

“Getting bad again?” Melissa asked, her voice hushed. She stood close beside Derek and put a hand on his shoulder.

Derek nodded wordlessly.

Melissa shook her head, a helpless expression crossing her face. “I can’t dose him again, Derek, it’s too much, we were already pushing it. He’s just going to have to tough it out until morning.” She looked pityingly at Stiles’s shaking form.

“Is it that bad?” The Sheriff asked, his voice watery. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Kid, why didn’t you tell me?”

The question was probably meant to be rhetorical, but Stiles managed to mutter an answer through gritted teeth between pained shudders. “Sorry, dad. Didn’t wanna...worry…”

Derek pulled him closer and shushed him. He looked up at the Sheriff. “He kept it from everyone,” he said, shaking his head. “Even me.”

The Sheriff heaved an anxious sigh. “So what you do you want to do here?” he asked. “You want me to lock my own kid in a jail cell? When he’s…” He gestured helplessly at Stiles.

“It’s...just a precaution.” Derek tried to keep his voice steady. “Until Deaton can help us. It’s what Stiles wants.”

“Dad,” Stiles looked around for his dad, his eyes clouded over with pain and panic. “Please. Let ‘im. Please. I can’t...not again…”

“Okay, kid, okay,” the Sheriff murmured. He stepped forward and put a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “Whatever you need.” He beckoned to Derek. “Bring him in here.”

He lead Derek to an empty jail cell. If was the old-school kind, basically just a large cage made of thick metal bars. Derek’s stress-taxed mind chose that moment to send him into a flashback of watching  _ The Andy Griffith _ show with his dad as a kid. The cell reminded him of it. Stiles would give him so much shit if he ever mentioned that to him. Stiles always got excited when he found out that Derek knew things that most normal humans knew. He’d shat a brick once when Derek understood a Harry Potter reference. 

He almost said something then and there, on an irrational impulse. Maybe he hoped it would bring out the real Stiles for a bit, not the pale, shaking Stiles that he held in his arms. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t be able to bear it when Stiles didn’t try to make a joke about it.

The cell was windowless and bare, save for a metal bench bolted to the floor against the far wall.

“We have a cot,” the Sheriff said. “In storage. I’ll…” He looked at Stiles like he was worried he’d wither away if he left him. “I’ll go get it.”

The Sheriff hurried off and Derek sat down on the bench, Stiles still cradled in his arms like a child. Melissa hovered nervously before taking a seat in a chair by a desk across the room from the cell.

Stiles continued to shake, muffling intermittent groans and pained gasps in Derek’s shirt. His hands had curled to claw at Derek’s chest.

“Stiles,” Derek said softly. “You with me?”

It took a few seconds, but Stiles nodded, his head still pressed against Derek.

“Stiles, I think...maybe we should try to find you an anchor. I think it might help.”

Stiles lifted his head and raised bleary eyes to Derek. “‘M not a...w-werewolf, Der. Don’t think...works like that.”

“I know, but it can’t hurt to  _ try. _ It doesn’t seem that different from when a new wolf is fighting a full moon, right? The...the void wants chaos, it doesn’t sound that different from a wolf wanting to hunt.”

“Der,” Stiles visibly steeled, trying to steady himself enough to speak properly. When he looked at Derek again, his eyes were painfully sad. “If I could have an anchor it would be you,” he managed to say clearly. He shuddered again and clenched his eyes shut. “If that were gonna work...would have by now. Sorry.”

Derek took a deep, shuddering breath of his own. “Stiles, I don’t know what to  _ do,” _ he whispered.

Stiles sighed and leaned into Derek, his eyes still closed. “Jus’ stay with me. Hold me down if you have to. Don’ lemme hurt anyone.”

“Or yourself,” Derek said pointedly, his voice betraying how defeated he felt.

The Sheriff returned with a small aluminum cot. He unfolded it in the cell and laid a thin blanket down on the narrow vinyl mattress.

“Sorry I don’t have better for you, kid,” he said quietly.

Stiles looked over at his dad and tried to twitch his lips up into a smile. “Thanks, dad.”

The Sheriff stepped out of the cell with a watery smile for Stiles. Derek lay Stiles down on the cot and covered him with the blanket. Stiles curled up immediately, balling in on himself and clutching at his middle. Derek itched to shift into his wolf to keep Stiles warm, but thought better of it. He’d be better able to hold Stiles down if necessary if he had actual arms. Instead he just settled onto the floor next to the cot, rubbing a hand in soothing circles into Stiles’s back.

Stiles was beginning to shake harder, his groans increasing in strength and frequency.

“Shut...shut the...door,” he barely managed to gasp out.

“Sti—”

“Shut the  _ fucking door, Derek,” _ Stiles growled desperately.

Derek swallowed his surprise and glanced at the Sheriff. “Sheriff?” he asked.

The Sheriff nodded unsteadily and stepped towards the cell.

He closed the cell door and locked it.

Stiles let out a sudden scream and flailed his arms, trying to rake his nails against his own face. Derek grabbed him before he could do any damage. He was raging now, muttering incoherently. His eyes had lost any semblance of awareness of his surroundings. 

The void was swallowing him up.

Derek just held on.

===

It was only a few hours until sunup, but it was a long few hours.

There was no window to watch the sunrise through, but Derek could tell the moment the sun must have peaked over the horizon.

Stiles had been fighting him all night, screaming and cursing, begging, clawing and writhing. Derek just held him down, muttering soothing words.

The moment the sun rose, Stiles became less agitated. His body slowly relaxed against the mattress and he stopped mumbling curses. His breathing was still harsh and ragged, but it was slowing. 

He let out one last moan and closed his eyes. His breathing evened out and he immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.

Derek finally released his iron grip and relaxed, himself, shaking all of the tension out of his muscles. He’d been holding Stiles’s flailing form down for hours. Exhaustion was trying to overtake him too, but he shook it off.

Stiles had begged them not to let him sleep earlier in the night. Should he wake him?

He looked at Stiles’s, his red rimmed eyes, his pale sunken cheeks. His face was finally calm, slack with sleep.

He couldn’t wake him. He needed the rest too badly.

He hoped it was the right call.

Now they just had to wait for Deaton. Derek had left him dozens of desperate voicemails. Hopefully he would call as soon as he got cell service and listened to the messages.

He prayed to every god he could think of that Deaton would be true to his word and didn’t decide to prolong his trip.

Stiles had been resting peacefully for a while when Derek noticed that Melissa and the Sheriff had also fallen asleep. They had pulled two desk chairs together and sat close to each other all night, the Sheriff barely holding back tears while Melissa wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. They’d fallen asleep like that, leaning into each other.

Derek thought about how much they’d been through together. Raising two wild boys alongside each other, learning about the supernatural and dealing with all the violence and insanity that came along with it. He felt a pang of pity for them. And some guilt that it was his world they’d been swept into against their wills.

He sat like that for a long time, alone with his own thoughts.

He was ripped from his melancholy trance when his phone rang, making him jump. Melissa and the Sheriff both snapped awake at the sound. Stiles stayed deep asleep, so exhausted he didn’t even stir.

Derek yanked the phone from his pocket and he could have cried out with relief. He jabbed the answer button.

“Deaton, thank fuck.”

“Derek,” Deatons voice was calm, but concerned. “I didn’t wait to listen to all of your messages. What’s wrong? You said something about Stiles?”

“There’s something…” Derek paused and stood slowly, trying not to wake Stiles with his movements. He moved to the far corner of the cell, getting as far away from Stiles as he could. He turned away from his sleeping form and lowered his voice. “There’s something really wrong with Stiles, Deaton. He says...at first he said that the darkness around his heart must have been...tainted by the Nogitsune when he was possessed. It’s been...hurting him. Now he thinks the Nogitsune is back. I don’t know if he’s right, but...it’s bad, Deaton. Really bad. We need you.”

“Noshiko?” Deaton asked.

“Not here,” Derek said tiredly. “Can’t be contacted. Just you.”

“I’m a few hours away. I’m coming straight there. Where are you?”

“We’re at the Sheriff’s department, but…” He looked up at the Sheriff who was watching him with rapt attention. “I don’t think we’ll be able to stay here much longer?”

The Sheriff grimaced and looked at the clock. Whatever excuse he’d used to keep the other deputies out of the station would only work for so long. They had a Sheriff’s department to run. He shook his head.

“Meet us at the clinic.”

===

He was dreaming again.

This time he knew it was a dream, so he tried not to panic. It was just as painfully cold as before, and his body still shook with it. He didn’t try to move this time. There was nowhere to go, he knew that now. No escape.

The fox could come to him this time, if it wanted him so badly.

And it did.

He saw the eyes first. Like fireflies slowly creeping towards him in the darkness. Then, just as before, the fox became more visible as it came closer. Fear built in his stomach, but he didn’t move. 

He couldn’t fight it, he was defenseless here. It already had him where it wanted.

It circled around him, its too-lean body hunkered low and predatory. The laughing sound came out of its mouth, softer this time. It laughed as it circled, watching him.

Then it spoke.

It’s voice was inhuman, like it’s laugh. It wasn’t like before. Not a man’s voice. It was genderless. High and rasping. It sounded exactly like you’d expect a fox to sound if it were trying to poorly mimic human speech.

“Sss...Stilesss…”

Stiles swallowed and closed his eyes. He wasn’t doing this. He wasn’t talking to this thing. That’s what it wanted. It wanted to twist his mind up, get him to bend to its will. He wasn’t doing it. He knew he couldn’t fight it, but he could damn well ignore it.

It laughed again. “I’m in y-your hhhhead Stilesss, y-you can’t ignorrre me.”

It continued to circle as it spoke. With his eyes closed it was just a disembodied voice floating around his head.

“I’m hhhungry Stilesss. I need to eattt t-to growww. I knoooowww y-you want t-to feed me. I knoooowww y-you like it. I knoooowww it f-feels gooooooood.”

It laughed again. A long, chittering sound.

Stiles hunkered in on himself. Guilt clawed at his stomach. He squashed it down.  _ Ignore it. _

“We’d b-be ssso goooood t-together Stilesss. Y-you know ssso many ways to have f-fun.”

_ It knows everything you know. Just like you know how to build pipe bombs. Like you know every inch of the hospital, knew just how to sabotage it. Know all of your friends’ weaknesses. Knew just how to hurt them, use them. _

_ Everything it did, it couldn’t have done without you. _

The fox’s laughter died away. Its voice turned hard, no longer playful.

“F-feed me Stilesss. So I can growww big and strong. Then w-we can plaaay. I know you w-want to plaaay Stilesss.”

He remembered how good the Nogitsune had felt. Breathing in the chaos. It’s glee, the rush of endorphins that had flooded Stiles’s brain.

Nausea swelled in his gut.

Stiles opened his eyes. “Go back to your box. I’m not playing your fucking game this time,” he snarled.

The fox grinned. Now that Stiles could see it again, he noticed that its slow walk around him had wavered. It was stumbling slightly. It’s voice was growing increasingly tired. It was weakening.

The sunrise. He’d remembered feeling it, just before he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t needed to see it to know. Almost like a werewolf could feel the moonrise. Relief had flooded him the second it came up.

The Nogitsune must be weaker in the daytime. Especially in its current sickly, starving form.

The fox gave another weak laugh. “Y-you d-don’t know?” It teased. “Y-you think I’m the sssame. I’m not hiiim, Stilesss. I’m not hiiim at aaaaall.” One last chittering laugh rang out. “I’m  _ y-you, _ Stilesss. Just y-you.”

His chest clenched. 

It was playing with him. Lying. Trying to trick him. That’s what it did.

It hunkered down again, getting ready to leap, just like last time. Stiles closed his eyes.

“I’m  _ hungry, _ Stilesss,” it growled.

He felt sharp teeth closing over his throat— 

===

Stiles jerked awake with a choked off cry. He was clutching at his throat with one hand, the other hand flailing wildly pushing Derek away from him.

Derek dodged the blows and grabbed Stiles’s arms, holding him still. “Stiles, Stiles, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re awake, you’re safe.”

Melissa and Derek had brought Stiles back to the clinic. The Sheriff had stayed behind—he couldn’t leave the station completely unmanned—but he’d promised to join them the second someone else came in. Stiles hadn’t woken up from his exhausted sleep when they moved him.

But he was awake now. When the fog lifted from his expression and he finally focused on Derek, the fight died out of him. He went placid in Derek’s arms and leaned into him, breathing heavily.

“Stiles?” Derek asked carefully. “Are you…”  _ Okay? Are you...you? _

“You let me fall asleep.” His voice was rough from sleep, but there was more to his tone than just tiredness. It was...dejected. Resigned.

“I’m sorry. You needed it. I don’t think you could have stayed awake if you’d tried, anyway.”

“It could’ve...he could’ve…”

“But it didn’t. You’re  _ you, _ right?”

He’d said something very wrong. He knew the second the words left his mouth. Stiles twisted out of his grip and pushed himself to the other side of the bed, his legs dangling off the edge, his back to Derek. Tremors wracked his body. He hugged himself, his arms wrapping around his lean torso. “I don’t even know what that means now, Derek,” he said in a broken whisper.

A tingle of fear tickled at the base of Derek’s spine. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Stiles just shook his head tiredly. He pulled his feet back up onto the bed and lay down again, curling up on his side. His back was still to Derek. “Go away.” His voice was weak, devoid of emotion. “Leave me alone.”

Derek’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Stiles, tell me what’s going through your head?”

Stiles ignored the question. “Why aren’t we at the station.” He didn’t even add any inflection to his voice.

“Your dad couldn’t keep it empty for much longer. It would have been too hard to explain what you were doing there. Stiles...you’re freaking me out.”

Stiles didn’t respond. Another small tremor shook him and he clutched his middle a little tighter.

“How do you feel?” Derek tried. “Any better?”

“I can still feel it,” he said, his voice still hollow. “But it's bearable.”

“Deaton’s on his way. He should be here soon.”

“I don’t think he can help, Derek. I don’t think anyone can.”

The tingle of fear shot up his spine this time, morphing into panic.

This wasn’t like Stiles. To just lay down and give up. Not at all.

Derek got to his feet and walked around to the other side of the bed. He crouched down to Stiles’s level. Stiles ignored him, his eyes vacant, staring at nothing.

“Stiles,” Derek said firmly. “Something happened. You need to talk to me.”

Stiles shifted his eyes, then, focusing his gaze to meet Derek’s.

“I think you need to take me to Eichen House.”

_ “Eichen House?” _ Derek didn’t try to keep the shock out of his voice. “Why the fuck would you ever want to go back there?”

“I don’t think this is the Nogitsune, Derek. I think it’s just me this time.”

Oh.

Derek reached over and cupped a hand at the back of Stiles’s neck.

“Let’s...let’s just wait for Deaton, okay? We can see what he thinks and then go from there.”

Stiles didn’t answer. His gaze shifted back to stare vacantly.

Derek drew in a shuddering breath and stood. He ran a hand through his hair. A nervous habit he’d picked up from Stiles. He went to the doorway and called for Melissa, softly. He kept his body angled to the side so he could keep one eye on Stiles.

Melissa was in the next room, curled up on a metal exam table. She’d been napping, but at Derek’s voice she stirred and looked up. “Stiles?” she asked.

Derek shook his head. “He’s awake, but…”

Melissa slipped off of the table and came over to him. She peered at Stiles from the doorway. He lay still, his eyes still open, staring. “Is he...him?” she whispered.

“I think so. But he’s...not himself. Exactly.” He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “I don’t know, Melissa. I don’t...we need Deaton.”

Melissa rubbed a calming hand up and down his shoulder. “Hey,” she said softly. “He’s on his way. Everything will be okay. Why don’t you get some rest? I can watch him.” Melissa’s touch was comforting. He realized, with surprise, that at some point during the long night the uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability he’d felt around Melissa had eased some. He still felt vulnerable, but...it was okay. It felt safe to be like this around her.

Derek shook his head. “I don’t want to leave you alone with him. If he’s…It’s not safe.”

She sighed and dropped her hand from his shoulder. “Well,  _ I’m _ going back to sleep, then, so at least one of us won’t collapse from exhaustion.” She touched his face. “But wake me up if you need me, honey.”

At her soft touch, he felt a pang of longing. No one had been maternal like that with him...for a long time. 

He  _ must _ be tired, if he was letting his emotions well up like this. He shook it off and nodded to her. She smiled at him and left the room.

===

Derek settled onto the floor in a corner of the room, away from Stiles’s bed. He leaned back against the wall and let his eyes rest on Stiles. Watching him. Waiting for Deaton.

Despite himself, the bone-weary exhaustion got the better of him and he must have dozed off. He came to slowly, the sound of quiet voices filtering through the haze of sleep. When he realized he had fallen asleep, he shook himself awake with a jolt.

Deaton and Melissa were standing over Stiles, talking quietly.

Melissa looked over at him as he stood. “We were about to wake you,” she said, already anticipating his aggravation at being left to sleep. “He only just got here.”

Deaton glanced at Derek and nodded in greeting, then turned his attention back to Stiles.

Stiles ignored everyone in the room.

“Stiles?” Deaton crouched down, trying to meet Stiles’s eyes. “Can you hear me?”

Stiles nodded lethargically, but didn’t adjust his gaze.

“That’s good. Stiles, Melissa has filled me on what’s been going on. Can you tell me how you’re feeling this morning?”

Stiles just shook his head and closed his eyes.

Worry lines pinched Deaton’s brow and he looked up at Derek. “How long has he been like this?”

“Since he woke up this morning.”

Deaton was quiet for a moment, thoughtful.

“Stiles, when you slept this morning, did you dream?”

Stiles didn’t open his eyes, but he shivered and drew into himself. He nodded.

“Stiles, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling right now, but I need you to tell me about the dream. I think something happened, and I think it was very important.”

Stiles sighed and opened his eyes. Slowly, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He drew in a breath. Eventually, he spoke. His voice was small. “A fox. My dream. It was a fox.”

Deaton nodded and Derek could see the wheels turning in his head. “Go on.”

“It had yellow eyes. Yellow like the Oni. It...talked. Then it lunged for my throat and I woke up.”

“What did the fox say, Stiles?”

It took Stiles a long time to answer, but Deaton waited patiently. Melissa chewed on her thumb. Derek stood with his arms crossed, tension tight in every muscle in his body.

“It told me it was hungry. Asked me to feed it. So that it could grow. It said...said some things. About me. Then it said...said that it wasn’t  _ him. _ That it wasn't the Nogitsune. It said that it was  _ me.” _ Tears spilled from his eyes, then. He didn’t bother to brush them away. He still wasn’t making eye contact. He stared at the floor.

God. No wonder Stiles thought he was going crazy.

Deaton just nodded. Nodded like everything Stiles was saying made perfect sense.

“It said that you had to feed it so that it could grow? It said that exactly?”

At Deaton’s pensive tone of voice, Stiles finally looked up. “It...yeah. That’s what it said.”

“Stiles, I think I know what is happening to you.”

Stiles’s gaze dropped again. “Yeah,” he croaked. “I’m finally losing it.”

Deaton shook his head and put both hands on Stiles’s shoulders. He leaned over to look him in the eyes. Stiles looked back at him. “No, Stiles. Not at all.”

He dropped his hands and stood up straight. “Stiles, when the Nogitsune split from you, I believe it...left something behind. A piece of itself. It’s how they...reproduce, for lack of a better term. This piece rooted itself in the darkness that was left behind by the ritual and festered. Grew. It is not the Nogitsune that possessed you originally, Stiles. It’s a new one. One that has grown, made from the darkness in your spirit, and from the Nogitsune.”

Some life finally crept back into Stiles’s eyes. He absently put a hand on his chest and looked down at himself. “Like...like it...laid an egg in me?” Mild alarm tinged his voice.

Deaton smiled. “A crude way to put it but...the analogy is not entirely incorrect.”

“That’s... _ disgusting.” _ Stiles croaked. Emotion was flooding back into his movements, his voice.

“How do we get it out of him?” Melissa asked.

“Well,” Deaton said. “It sounds to me like it’s still fairly weak. It took years to grow enough to start influencing Stiles to feed it. Then when he did, it of course got stronger. It’s good that you managed to stave it off when you did, or I fear it may have become too strong to control by now. I think in its current state...I think all we need is wolf lichen.”

“Wolf lichen?” Derek finally spoke up. His head was still spinning from everything he’d just heard. “Didn’t you use it all the first time? Do we have enough time to get more?” He was already forming a plan in his mind. He’d have to get the earliest plane ticket to Japan. He’d have to go alone, there’s no way more than one of them would be able to sneak into the Yakuza boss’s house, it would be too noticeable. He’d no doubt have stronger security this time. Shit, what if he’d gotten rid of the wolf lichen, now that he knew about it? They had to try, anyway. Derek would have more luck in his full shift than the others would. He could slink in under the cover of darkness. He’d have to figure out a way to get the lichen without poisoning himself, maybe—

“We shouldn’t need to same lichen as before.” Deaton interrupted his racing thoughts. “The other Nogitsune, it was mature. Much stronger. This one is young and weak. Regular wolf lichen should do the trick. I have plenty on hand.” He looked at Stiles. “I’ll make you a tea. It’s lethal to canines, but perfectly harmless for humans. It should weaken the little fox significantly. It may even kill it for good.” He shrugged. “If not, it will certainly take care of it well enough that we can wait for Noshiko to return. She will know how to purge it, if it isn't already gone.”

“That’s…” Stiles’s eyes were wide, his tone apprehensive.  _ “Tea? _ That’s it?”

“That’s it. I’m sorry I was not here to help you sooner. You have my deepest apologies.”

“I…” Stiles was opening and closing his mouth wordlessly in shock. “I’m not—I thought—You’re—”

Derek stepped forward and wrapped a hand around the nape of Stiles’s neck. “Hey. Breathe.”

Stiles relaxed into his touch a little and took a few breaths. He looked at Deaton. “I’m not crazy?”

Deaton smiled sadly. “Everyone who lives our kind of life is a little crazy, Stiles. But no. No more than the rest of us.”

Stiles’s face was slack with shock. He didn’t speak.

Deaton gave Derek a sympathetic glance then looked back to Stiles. He spoke slowly. “I’ll go make the tea. I want you to drink it and then get some rest.” He looked at Derek. “Both of you.”

He left the room and Melissa stepped forward. She sat carefully on the bed next to Stiles and rubbed his back. “You hear that? You’re gonna be fine, kiddo. You can relax now, okay?”

Stiles blinked uncomprehendingly at her, and nodded absently.

“Oh, Stiles,” she sighed, sorrow in her voice. She wrapped an arm around him and kissed the top of his head. “It’s okay.” He blinked again, and then started to shake. She hugged him tighter. Derek came around the bed and squeezed in on Stiles’s other side. He pulled Stiles’s hand into his lap and intertwined their fingers.

They just sat there like that, no one making a sound.

Eventually Deaton returned holding a steaming mug of tea. By then, Stiles’s shaking had subsided and he just leaned into Melissa. He sat up straight when Deaton entered the room, and Derek let go of his hand so Stiles could take the mug. He took it with both hands and stared down into it for a few long minutes.

“Drink the whole thing,” Deaton instructed. “I’ll send you home with a package and instructions. After you drink it, I want to keep you for observation for an hour or so and then I want you home and in bed.”

Stiles raised the mug to his mouth, but his hands started to shake. Violently. He lowered the mug and frowned at it. Then tried again. The mug shook so badly that tea sloshed out of the sides of it, splashing onto the floor. Stiles gasped in pain, dropping one hand from the mug to fist into his stomach. “Shit,” he gasped.

“It’s fighting you,” Deaton said. “The fox.” He nodded to Derek. “Help him.”

Stiles met Derek’s eyes and Derek nodded encouragingly. Stiles started to lift the mug again, and Derek put a hand on his elbow, guiding him. It took more strength than Derek expected, but eventually the mug reached Stiles’s lips and he took a long draw. He swallowed and made a face at the taste.

They repeated the process until Stiles had drained the last of the mug. Deaton took the mug away and then they waited.

It was only a few moments after the last drink that Stiles convulsed. His whole body seized and he gagged. He cried out in pain and wrapped both arms around his stomach. Derek grabbed the back of his neck and started draining his pain. Waves of cold agony and nausea were sweeping through his body. Derek drew what he could, but when the waves crested, both he and Stiles writhed in pain. Eventually, tortuously slowly, the pain subsided and they were both left gasping.

“Death throes,” Deaton said simply, a little smugness in his tone.

After both their breathing calmed, Stiles rubbed a hand over his torso, assessing. “I don’t...I can’t feel anything,” he said, awe in his voice. “It’s gone.” He looked up at Deaton, wide-eyed.

Deaton smiled. “Good. Your body shouldn’t react like that to the tea the next time, then, thankfully. I want you to drink a mug of it every day until Noshiko returns, and then we’ll have her take a look at you.”

He looked to both Derek and Stiles. “Now go home and get plenty of rest. You too, Melissa,” he said with a sly glance.

“Believe me,” she said. “I’d like nothing more.”

Melissa hugged Stiles, giving him another kiss to the head, and whispered reassurances into his ear.

Then she hugged Derek.

After only a second of hesitation, he hugged her back.

“Keep me updated.” She said to both of them. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Chris and a bed waiting at home for me.”

As Melissa was leaving, Derek heard the Sheriff come in. Melissa stopped him in the lobby and they talked in quiet murmurs. Derek could have heard what they were saying if he wanted, but he didn’t listen.

“Your dad’s here,” he said to Stiles. Derek rose from his spot on the bed and stretched his tired muscles. “I’ll give you two a minute and then we’ll go home, okay?”

Stiles reached out to clutch the hem of Derek’s shirt, wordlessly, and tugged. Derek let Stiles pull him closer and he buried his head into Derek’s stomach. Derek frowned. “Hey. You still okay?”

“It’s really gone, Der.” Stiles’s voice was muffled.

Derek combed his fingers through Stiles’s hair. It was almost too long, now, he needed a cut soon. 

“You’re okay now,” he said softly.

===

The Sheriff came in and Derek left them alone. He went to the bathroom and relieved his full bladder. He hadn’t even realized how badly he’d needed to go. He hadn’t even had anything to drink in...a while. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he or Stiles had eaten. Had it been when they made breakfast?  _ Two _ days ago? He kicked himself, mentally. Stiles needed to eat. Especially after the…

The incubus. In all the commotion, he’d almost forgotten.

He splashed some water over his face and ran a hand over his stress-tousled hair, then went to find Deaton.

He found him in a large storage closet, gathering what he assumed was wolf lichen and measuring it out into several small drawstring bags.

Deaton looked up when Derek walked in. “How’s our patient?” he asked, turning back to his task.

“Fine,” Derek said, crossing his arms. “Kind of.”

Deaton raised an eyebrow, still focusing on splitting up the lichen. “Kind of?”

“What do you know about incubi? About...their victims?”

Deaton stopped what he was doing and turned to Derek. “Derek. Tell me.”

Derek sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Stiles. I stopped it, but...not before...”

Deaton sucked in a breath. “When?”

“A few days ago.”

Deaton closed his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, Stiles,” he sighed.

Tears pricked Derek’s eyes. He blinked them away and cleared his throat. “Is there anything we can do to...help him recover?”

Deaton shrugged. “Rest.  _ Lots _ of it. He’ll need to eat a lot. And I have a phone number. It might take some convincing on your part, but...he should talk to someone.”

===

When Deaton was finished, he gave Derek a bag full of individual little bags of wolf lichen, along with instructions. 

Derek returned to find the Sheriff seated on the bed, Stiles curled up with his head in his dad’s lap, fast asleep, his face tear-stained.

The Sheriff looked lost, heartbroken, his hand carding through Stiles’s hair. He looked up when Derek made a deliberate small noise of movement.

The Sheriff just stared at Derek for a minute, his face filtering through emotions, his mouth working like he was trying to get his voice to work.

“He…” His voice was broken. He cleared his throat quietly and tried again. “He told me everything, Derek. The…the void? The clubs, the...the…”

He didn’t need to finish. Derek just nodded, his eyes on Stiles’s sleeping form. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve...it’s my fault, I didn’t—”

The Sheriff held up a hand. “Don’t, son. Don’t start that. I know you too well, by now, Derek. You can’t blame yourself for everything. I know you love my son, and I know you’d do anything to protect him.”

Derek’s voice was thick. “I would.”

“Just take him home, Derek. Take care of him.”

Derek didn’t trust his voice. He nodded.

He took Stiles home.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles woke up in his and Derek’s bed. It took him a minute to figure out where he was. That was getting old. He stretched and winced at his aching muscles and his swollen bladder.

He sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He looked around and saw that he was alone. The window was dark. Night time. He wondered what day it was, and decided he’d rather not know.

He dragged himself out of bed and shuffled into the en suite bathroom. He relieved himself and washed his hands. He avoided the mirror.

He shuffled back into the bedroom and looked between the bed and the door. He was still exhausted, his muscles still aching. His body shook with the effort it took just to stand. He really wanted to fall back into bed and sleep for a week.

But where was Derek?

Stiles left the bedroom and made his way toward the living room. He stopped when he heard voices. Two people. One of them yelling.

He hobbled as quickly into the living room as he could in his weak state. Derek was there, at the front door. The door was open partially and he had a hand braced on the back of it, like he was keeping whoever was on the other side from forcing it open. By the sound of it, there was a man in the hall outside the door.

“—know he’s in there, I want to talk to him myself!” Stiles couldn’t see the man, but by the sound of his voice he was obviously furious.

“For the last time,” Derek growled. “There’s no one here with that name. Go. Away.” Derek started to force the door closed.

“Stiles! Stiles, I know you’re in there! Come out here and look me in the eyes you coward!”

What the hell?

Stiles moved forward and grabbed Derek’s arm. Derek started and whipped his head around. “Derek, who—”

“Stiles!” the man yelled again. Then Stiles recognized the voice.

“Devon?” Stiles nudged Derek’s hand off the door and pulled it the rest of the way open.

Devon stood there, his face twisted in fury. He was a little younger than Stiles. His blond hair was shaggy, hanging down almost to his shoulders. He was lean, bordering on too thin.

He and Stiles had been friends, of a sort. He was part of the group that Stiles would sometimes hang out with at the clubs.

“Devon?” Stiles asked again. His voice was rough with sleep, a little shaky. “What are you doing here?”

“I knew it,” Devon spit. “I knew this was the right place.” He started forward, but Derek intercepted him, pressing a firm hand into his chest and barring him from moving any further. A growl rumbled in Derek’s chest. Devon’s turned wild eyes on Derek. “I knew you were lying,” he sneered.

“Devon, what’s going on?”

Devon turned his attention back to Stiles. “You were the last one to see her alive,” he snarled. “Did you do it? Did you kill her? Did you kill Vanessa?”

It was like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over Stiles’s head. Suddenly the world was spinning and he staggered back. He stumbled and landed on his butt in the living room floor.

Vanessa. He’d forgotten her name.

Derek was growling again and he took a step forward, his hand still on Devon’s chest, forcing him back out the door.

“Wait,” Stiles heard himself say weakly. “Der, wait.”

Derek growled again, but stopped forcing Devon backwards. “Stiles…” he said, softly, his voice warning.

Stiles tried to shake the fog out of his head. He focused his attention on Devon. “I didn’t kill her, Devon.”

“Then who... _ what _ did?” Devon’s voice was desperate. “I  _ saw _ her body, man, it was...what  _ did _ that?” His eyes darted from Derek to Stiles. “I’m not stupid. I grew up in Beacon Hills, man, I know...I know there’s some weird shit, here…” His eyes welled with tears and his shoulders shook. “Tell me what happened to my sister,” he sobbed. “Please.”

“Devon,” Stiles whispered. His chest was tight and his ears were ringing. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Derek grabbed Devon’s shirt and yanked him all the way into the loft, slamming the door behind him. He dragged him over to the couch and dropped him down into it. Devon made a squeak of protest, but didn’t fight. He stayed seated on the couch, his body still shaking with sobs.

Derek came back over to Stiles and put an arm around him, lifting him gently off the floor. “Back to bed,” he said quietly.

“No, Der, I wanna—”

“I wasn’t asking, Stiles. You don’t need to be here for this. I’ll talk to him. You need to rest.”

Stiles protested some more, but he was too weak to fight. He could barely even argue, he was already flagging. Derek was half-carrying him to their room.

Derek helped Stiles into bed and left, clicking the bedroom door shut firmly behind him.

Stiles lay in bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time. He strained his ears, but he couldn’t hear what Derek and Devon were saying. Eventually exhaustion overtook him and he drifted off.

===

Derek and Devon talked for a long time, and Derek was eventually able to get him to leave without a fight. The second Derek closed the door behind him, he hurried to the bedroom to check on Stiles. He’d hated leaving him alone in there after the shock that the Devon kid had caused him, but he’d had no choice.

Stiles was asleep. Derek breathed a sigh of relief.

They’d only been home for a few hours when Devon had come banging on the door. Derek was beginning to think they’d never get a chance to truly rest. Even with his werewolf stamina, the fatigue was getting to him. His body felt like lead. He wanted to sink down into the bed next to Stiles and sleep, but he was half afraid that the minute he did, the universe would throw another curveball at them, another twist.

He sat down anyway, moving slowly so as not to wake Stiles.

His attempt at stealth was unsuccessful. Stiles must not have been sleeping very deeply yet, because he stirred easily when Derek jostled the bed just a little. He rolled over towards Derek and blinked at him. “Devon?” he mumbled.

Derek reached out and carded a hand through Stiles’s hair. “Gone. Go back to sleep.”

“Didn’ kill ‘im, did you?” He asked sleepily.

Derek smiled humorlessly. “Didn’t kill him. Just talked to him.”

“Did you tell him? The truth?” Stiles’s eyes were big and dark, suddenly more alert.

“Yes,” Derek said.

“The whole truth?”

Derek didn’t answer.

“Derek,” Stiles said, more firmly this time. “Did you tell him the whole truth?”

He’d had to. The kid would never stop coming back if he thought they were hiding anything, if he caught even a hint that Derek had left out any detail. Derek couldn’t blame him. He’d do the same if it were his sister.

“Yes,” he said gently.

Stiles didn’t say anything. He just turned over and went back to sleep.

===

Derek was woken in the morning by the sound of frantic knocking on the door.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said into his pillow.

He looked over at Stiles and was relieved to see that he was still dead asleep. A herd of elephants probably couldn’t wake him at this point.

Derek got out of bed, grumbling to himself.

He knew who was at the door before he yanked it open. “Scott,” he said flatly. “Do you know what time it is?”  _ Derek  _ didn’t even know what time it was, but he knew it was too damn early.

Scott ignored the question. “Is Stiles okay?” He gave Derek big, worried puppy-dog eyes. “My mom told me what happened.”

Derek sighed and stepped aside to let Scott in. “He’s okay.”

“Can I see him?” He started toward the bedroom.

“Scott,” Derek stopped him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “He’s sleeping. He needs to rest.”

So did Derek, but no one seemed to give a shit about that.

Scott deflated. “Why didn’t anyone tell me what was going on?” he asked, dejected.

Derek sighed tiredly. It was too early for this conversation. “By the time I knew what was happening, everything went downhill too fast to worry about anything else. There was nothing you could have done, anyway, Scott. We had it handled.”

_ “Had it handled?” _ Scott repeated, a little hysterical. “My mom said you had to lock him in a jail cell!”

“Keep your voice down,” Derek hissed. “You’re gonna wake him. We didn’t  _ have _ to lock him up. It was just a precaution. We didn’t know what was going to happen.”

“Which is exactly why you should have called me!” Scott whisper-yelled, dramatically. “I could have  _ helped _ if—”

_ “Scott,” _ Derek interrupted. “I’m sorry we didn’t call you, but it’s over now and I’m exhausted. Stiles will talk to you when he’s ready, okay? Right now he just needs to rest and recover. And so do I.” He ushered Scott towards the door.

“Will you have him call me as soon as he wakes up?” Scott said hurriedly.

“No. I said he’ll call you when he’s ready. Look…” He slowed his ushering. “I know you’re worried, but I don’t think he really wants to see or talk to anyone right now, Scott. Give him some time.”

“But…” Scott’s expression was hurt, confused. “It’s  _ me. _ Why wouldn’t he want to see  _ me?” _

“It’s not personal, Scott. He’s just not in a good place right now. He’ll call you  _ when he’s ready. _ Now go home.” He shoved Scott out into the hall.

He shut the door in Scott’s face, ignoring his distressed expression.

He knew he probably should have been gentler with him. Scott was just worried about Stiles. It was cruel to shut him out.

But goddamn, he was still tired.

He leaned his back against the door and let his head fall back with a thud. His stomach clenched with hunger.

Fuck. They still hadn’t eaten. He needed to get some food into Stiles.

===

It took several minutes of shaking to wake Stiles up. Derek had almost started to get worried.

“Mm,” he finally moaned. “Huh?” He cracked a single bloodshot eye open.

“Stiles,” Derek said for the hundredth time. “You need to get up, okay? We need to get some food and water in you.”

“Nn,” Stiles groaned. He tried to roll back over, but Derek held him in place, firmly.

“Stiles,” he said again. “Come on.” He hauled Stiles up into a sitting position. Stiles didn’t protest, but he didn’t help, either.

Derek held a glass of water up to Stiles’s chapped lips. “Drink,” he demanded, tipping the glass back so a trickle of water streamed into Stiles’s mouth.

As soon as the water wet his tongue, Stiles opened his eyes blearily, and reached up to hold the glass on his own. He gulped greedily and Derek had to put a hand on the glass and tip it back away. “Slow down,” he said. He let go and Stiles finished the glass, more slowly this time.

Derek set the glass aside and held up a mug of soup. Stiles grimaced and shook his head. “No,” he croaked.

“Stiles, you haven’t eaten in  _ three days,” _ Derek implored. “Deaton said you should be eating more than usual to get your strength back.”

Stiles took the mug reluctantly. He had to choke down the first few sips, his face taking on a slight shade of green, but his body seemed to get the message once the soup hit his stomach and Derek heard an audible growl from it. Stiles downed the rest of the soup easily and handed the mug back to Derek.

Without a word, Stiles curled up and went straight back to sleep.

===

The next few days went pretty much just like that. Derek woke Stiles, poured water, gatorade, soup, high-calorie protein shakes, or lichen tea down his throat, and then he rolled over and went back to sleep.

On the fourth day, Derek decided that Stiles had had enough bedrest and tried to talk him into getting out of bed.

“Just for a little while,” he’d told the blanket-covered lump. “Get your blood flowing a little.” He wrinkled his nose. “Shower.”

The lump curled in on itself more tightly. Derek sighed. He’d never been good at this. Helping people deal with their emotions. God knows he barely had a handle on his own. His go-to method was just to shove them down until they festered and transformed into anger. Anger he could handle.

But not everyone dealt with their emotions the same way. Definitely not Stiles. Stiles had always been good at handling the tougher stuff. Derek figured it was probably because he’d lost his mother so young, and he’d had help with it. He’d had a good dad who had provided him with the proper support system—professional grief counselors who taught him how to handle things in a healthy way. He’d also had Scott. Melissa.

No one ever taught Derek the proper way to handle things. When Derek lost his family, he’d had Laura, and she was handling things about as well as him. She hadn’t known how to help him, and he hadn’t known how to help her.

He felt like he was back there again—the grief of losing their family still fresh, Laura curled up on her shitty twin mattress in the shitty apartment they’d managed to get in New York. He hadn’t been able to get her out of bed, either. It took Derek going off the deep end himself to get her to drag herself out of bed to slap some sense into him.

He was at just as much of a loss here. What’s worse was, this situation was different anyway. Stiles wasn’t grieving, he was...Derek didn’t even know what. Was it the nogitsune? Was it the incubus? Both? How the hell was he supposed to help with any of that? Talking wasn’t going to fix it, wasn’t going to change any of what happened.

“Stiles.” Derek sat cross-legged next to Stiles on the bed. He leaned forward, his voice pleading. “I don’t know what to do, here. I don’t know what you need. Should I...should I call your dad? Scott?”

“No,” Stiles’s voice was muffled by the blankets. “Don’t. I don’t want to see them. Can’t.” Those were the most words he’d gotten out of Stiles in days.

_ “What, _ then?” Derek tried to keep his voice calm. “You can’t stay in bed forever.”

Derek pulled the piece of paper Deaton had given him out of his pocket. He stared at it, rubbing it between thumb and finger.

“Deaton...gave me a number. To someone who can help you. She’s a...something, I don’t remember exactly, a sylph, maybe? It doesn’t matter, the point is she knows about the weird stuff. So you can be open with her. Talk to her.”

“No shrinks,” the lump groaned. “I’m so sick of shrinks.”

“Stiles, we have to do  _ something,” _ Derek begged.

Stiles ignored him.

Derek called Stiles’s dad.

The Sheriff came over right away. Derek gave them some privacy. He sat on the couch in the living room, trying to concentrate on anything but the deep, soothing sound of the Sheriff’s steady voice in the bedroom. Derek didn’t eavesdrop, but he couldn’t help but notice that the conversation was one-sided.

Eventually, the Sheriff came out of the bedroom and just shook his head at Derek.

Next Derek tried Scott.

The result was much the same, only this time the conversation was definitely  _ not _ one sided. Derek heard the distinct phrase “wolfsbane enema” and the crashing sounds of tea mugs being thrown. Poor Scott came out of the room with his tail tucked between his legs.

Derek swallowed. It was time to pull out the big guns. Stiles was going to hate him.

Melissa had much better luck than Scott or the Sheriff.

She’d already gotten word of previous efforts and she didn’t waste time trying to coddle Stiles. She marched right into the bedroom and ripped the blankets off of him. She yanked him up and marched him into the bathroom. She threatened a sponge bath if he didn’t take a shower, and he actually obeyed, albeit pale-faced and quiet.

By the time she left the loft (with a crushing goodbye hug for each of them and pointed assurances that she would be back tomorrow to check in) she had Stiles seated on the couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a plate with an actual solid-food sandwich in his lap. He’d even taken a few bites.

Stiles had dark circles under his eyes, his face was slack and expressionless, but he was bathed and upright.

He still wouldn’t talk to Derek.

Baby steps.

===

A week later, Stiles was doing better. Marginally. He was showering regularly on his own. Eating, as long as Derek put food in front of him. Even speaking in full sentences, though he still wouldn’t talk about anything that happened.

He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to move passed it.

The concoction of emotions roiling in his gut constantly was making that hard. Shame. Embarrassment. Disgust. Guilt.

He’d been...okay, at first. After the incubus. They’d still had the void—the fucking  _ baby nogitsune _ —to deal with, so he’d been able to shut everything out, to focus on the clawing cold that had dulled everything else.

And then it was all over. No more void. All better.

And when he woke up from the nightmare, he’d had to face that it  _ wasn’t _ all just a nightmare.

Again.

Except last time, he’d been told over and over that it wasn’t his fault. That he hadn’t been in control of his own actions. He’d been possessed.

No one was telling him that this time. He didn’t have that excuse. Sure, he’d had a nogitsune inside of him, but it didn’t have any actual  _ control. _

He’d been the one who had tried to take care of things on his own. All him. 100% Stiles Stilinski. He’d been the one on the self-destructive rampage. He’d been the one who dragged Vanessa into that club.

He’d been the one who got an innocent girl killed.

_ Again, again, again, _ his brain reminded him.

First Allison. Then Vanessa.

He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t want  _ anyone _ to look at him. Especially Derek.

Of course that just made the guilt worse, because he knew that was hurting Derek. Derek who was always there to sweep in and rescue him, Derek who took care of him when he couldn’t or wouldn’t, Derek who would do anything for Stiles. He didn’t deserve to be snubbed. All he wanted was for Stiles to talk to him. He thought it would help. Thought it would make Stiles feel better.

But it wouldn’t. Talking about it would just rip open the barely-scabbed wounds. Talking about it would make it real. The last weeks had gone by in an almost dissociated haze, and if he ignored it, he could almost convince himself that it had been a long nightmare. Talking about it would make it  _ real. _

Derek had finally stopped begging him to talk to Deaton’s therapist friend. He’d just left the piece of paper with her number on the coffee table for him.

“I guess I can’t make you,” he’d said. “You have to want to do it on your own.”

Stiles had thrown it away.

===

To Stiles’s annoyance, Derek wouldn’t let him out of his sight. They hadn’t left the loft at all since they’d come back that night. Derek had tried to get Stiles to come out with him when they’d run out of food, but he’d eventually just opted to have the groceries delivered. Stiles couldn’t be around people.

Then Cora needed Derek.

Her pack in South America had run into some trouble. She needed his help.

And Stiles wanted to go. He really did. He hated the idea of Derek going into danger without him. Derek had told him it was better for both of them if he stayed behind. That Stiles wasn’t in any condition to be in the fight right now, and Derek would be less distracted if he knew that Stiles was safe at home. He didn’t want to leave Stiles. Cora was probably the only person on the planet who could have dragged him away.

Stiles had tried to go after him. Derek kissed him goodbye, walked out the door, got into his car and when Stiles heard the engine roar to life outside, he couldn’t take it. He’d jumped up then, but...he’d gotten as far as the door to the loft and couldn’t take another step. Anxiety had seized him. Frozen him to the spot. His chest had clenched, his breath caught in his throat and that was it. He couldn’t move.

He’d sunk to the floor and wept. Deep, wracking sobs.

That’s where Scott found him. Curled up on the floor, crying like a baby.

The door still hung open, so he didn’t even hear Scott come in. Just felt the thud of Scott’s knees hitting the ground next to him and felt himself being turned over.

“Stiles! Stiles, what’s wrong. Are you hurt?”

Stiles shook his head and tried to control his breathing.

He blinked tears out of his eyes and noticed the duffle bag on the floor next to Scott and choked out a groan.

“Are you...here to... _ babysit _ me, McCall?” he managed to hiccup.

Scott huffed in relief and raised the corner of his lips in a crooked smile that didn’t reach his worried eyes. “No! I needed some best friend time. I mean...Derek  _ may _ have mentioned that he’d be out of town.”

Stiles sat up and rubbed at his face. He was pathetic, Jesus.

“Don’t you have a pregnant kitsune at home?” he asked. He didn’t know who he was trying to distract from the situation, Scott or himself.

“Dude, she’s pregnant, not incapacitated. She doesn’t need me hovering.”

Apparently he thought Stiles did, though. He pushed that thought away and raised an eyebrow at Scott. “Are those her words, or yours?”

Scott laughed, then, the worry easing out of his expression a little. “This baby thing is freaking me out, man. I’m not cut out for it. I don’t know if it’s the wolf or just me, but I’m really going to have to work at not being an overprotective alpha dad.”

Stiles stretched his mouth into what he hoped was a grin and clapped Scott on the shoulder. “You’re gonna be great, buddy.”

The grin apparently didn’t work, and the worry came back into Scott’s eyes. “Seriously though, man, are you—”

“I’m fine, Scott.” He stood up a little too quickly, knocking Scott back a little.

He hadn’t worked up the energy to reach out to Scott yet, even though Derek had told him about Scott coming by before. Now that Scott was here, though, right in front of him...he wished he’d called him. Scott was his brother. Having him around was...comforting in a way that Derek wasn’t.

Stiles loved Derek. So much that it kind of scared him. But after everything that had happened, he couldn’t help but feel in constant fear that Derek would realize how fucked up Stiles was now and leave him. Stiles had...he’d slept with Vanessa. And kissed other people, people he hadn’t mentioned. Touched other people, let other people touch him. And he’d been so desperate that he’d...he’d followed the incubus into its den without a second thought and let it…

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what an incubus was, what it could make people do. But if he hadn’t... _ wanted _ it so bad in the first place, he should have been able to  _ fight _ it. Shouldn’t have been so easy to…

And then there was the nogitsune... _ spawn. _ It had taken seed in the darkness inside of him and grown. How could an  _ evil chaos demon _ have grown inside of him if his insides weren’t a fucking lush garden for something evil to flourish in? Wasn’t that why the older Nogitsune had chosen him in the first place? Derek had had him convinced, before. That his insides weren't rotten. That he'd tried to fight the Nogitsune the first time, but...

There was something wrong with him and it was a miracle that Derek just hadn’t noticed yet.

He didn’t have to worry about any of that with Scott. Scott was family. He’d been there for as long as Stiles could remember, he knew how to just...be there. Like he’d been there when Stiles lost his mom. 

He realized that now, as he watched Scott regain his balance and stand up, concern on his face.

And before Scott could react, Stiles was wrapped around him, his face buried in Scott’s shoulder.

And Scott just hugged him back.

And then they ordered pizza and played video games and Stiles felt almost normal again for a little while.

===

It didn’t last.

Scott stayed at the loft with Stiles for three days. It was almost a nice three days. After that first night, when Stiles had felt almost like Stiles again, reality had started to seep back in. Stiles went back to being quieter than usual, more reserved. His appetite went away again. Still, he felt better with Scott around. Lighter.

And then Scott got a phone call.

“I’mreallysorryman,” Scott rushed out in a single breath. “Gottago. Kira. Hospital. Contractions.” Then he was out the door before Siles could even get a word in. Stiles thought about following, but he was reminded of what happened last time he tried to go out the door and thought better of it. Scott didn’t need him, anyway, he’d just be in the way.

He sat back on the couch and just...listened to the quiet.

For the first time in a while, he was alone.

Without Scott as a distraction he was left alone with his thoughts.

He’d wanted nothing more than to be alone, lately, but now that he was…

He really didn’t want to be. His thoughts were too loud.

Derek was gone. Scott was gone.

He thought about calling someone. His pack.

But...

Lydia...wasn’t and option. They hadn’t had a good breakup and...he wasn’t sure what was scarier, a banshee holding a grudge or  _ Lydia _ holding a grudge.

Mason, Corey, Liam...they were all off at school. Malia had taken off into the woods months ago, trying to reconnect with her coyote-self.

He couldn’t bring his dad back into this. He’d caused him enough pain already.

There was no one. He’d just have to suck it up and tough it out on his own.

And he tried, he really did. He played more video games. Worked on the bestiary—he’d been taking extensive notes any time they’d had an encounter with anything supernatural the last few years, and his notes had been  _ so _ extensive, that he was still working on incorporating them in to the bestiary when he had time.

But that just reminded him that he should be making an addendum to the entry on nogitsunes. And incubi.

His stomach twisted when that thought occurred to him, and he pushed himself back from his desk, lurching out of the desk chair.

He tried watching movies. Taught himself origami by watching videos on the internet and had a veritable army of paper dragons, and if he ever figured out a way to magically animate them it was over for the local population of paper feudal peasants.

He was on the thirteenth dragon when his phone dinged with a text from Scott.

**Scotty: False alarm just Braxton Hicks contractions. Dr sent her home. Dont feel ok leaving her alone tho sorry. You good on your own?**

Stiles hesitated. He wanted to tell Scott the truth. Beg him to come back. But he couldn’t do it. Kira needed him more.

**Me: All good.**

**Scotty: You sure? You can always come here if you want.**

Stiles considered it. Then he thought about walking outside and he swallowed down a lump of panic.

**Me: Just gonna try and get some sleep. Thanks Scott.**

**Scotty: K man. Love you. Text if you need me. Srsly.**

He tried going back to folding dragons, but his thoughts got louder and louder. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t think around the thrum of his own anxiety.

So he took a long hot shower and then tried to sleep.

To his surprise, he eventually felt himself drifting off, and…

===

He was back in that place. The dark place. The fox was already there, this time. It looked haggard. It’s yellow eyes were dim, and clumps of fur were missing from its dull coat. It lay on the ground in a heap.

It blinked up a him.

“Stilesss,” it croaked weakly. “Whyyy would y-you do this to me. I  _ know _ y-you want to have f-fun with me.”

The fox moved, then. It lifted itself up off the ground with its front legs and dragged itself forward, slowly, and with immense effort. Its body made a soft scraping sound as it slid over the dirt.

“Helllp me, Stilesss,” it moaned in its weird inhuman fox-voice. “Don’t do thisss to mee.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, he just took a few steps back, out of the fox’s reach. He hoped if he ignored it, maybe it would tire itself out until it just...died.

Then another sound rang out in the darkness and he felt his entire body go numb.

Laughing. Not the shrill, chittering laughter of the little fox. Humanoid. A deep, male voice.

An all-too familiar one.

Then there were footsteps in the dirt and it was there, standing next to the fox.

Bomber jacket. Bandaged face. Too many teeth.

Stiles’s mouth worked, but no words came out. 

_ Nononononononono. _

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.

“Did you miss me, Stiles?” the Nogitsune asked, tilting its head in question. Then it looked down at the fox and knelt next to it. It reached out fingers fat with bandages, and gently stroked the fox’s fur. The fox shuddered and blinked rapidly. It’s eyes glowed brighter.

“There there,” the Nogitsune crooned. “Don’t worry, little one. He didn’t mean it, did you Stiles?” The Nogitsune turned its head toward Stiles, laying its eyeless gaze on him. “We’ll make you all better, won’t we Stiles?”

Stiles couldn’t speak, but, with effort, his neck muscles tensed and shifted. He shook his head slowly.

The Nogitsune laughed again and continued to stroke the fox. The fox’s eyes grew brighter and brighter and it pushed itself up onto four shaky legs.

“Stilesss,” the fox hissed, its voice stronger now. “Now we can playyy!”

===

Stiles woke himself up when he rolled off the bed and hit the floor hard. He landed on his face and tasted blood, his tongue bitten. He lay there face down for a long time, taking deep gasping breaths, before he garnered the will to push himself shakily up into a sitting position.

Still trying to control his breathing, he pushed himself into the corner and pressed his sweaty face against the cool wall. His whole body shook.

When he was finally able to get his breathing slowed, he reached up and fumbled blindly around the bedside table. His hand snagged a thin cord and he yanked. His phone came tumbling down off the table and landed on the floor. He yanked the charging cord from it and thumbed the screen on.

He stared at the phone. It shook in his hands. He'd say there for so long that when his breathing had finally slowed, his adrenaline had crashed and his thoughts were sluggish. Thinking full thoughts became difficult.

Derek. He wanted to call Derek. He  _ needed _ Derek. Stiles wasn’t safe. Other people weren’t safe from him. He wanted to hear Derek’s voice, wanted the heat of Derek’s hand on his chest. He was only safe with Derek.

But if he called Derek, he might leave Cora. Something might happen to her. Because of Stiles.

Guilt was already eating him alive. He wouldn’t survive any more.

He tossed the phone away. It landed on the carpet with a soft thump.

He ran both of his hands through his sweat-damp hair and yanked. He sat like that for several long moments, his slow thoughts gathering in his head, trying to figure out what to do.

The Nogitsune. The original. It was back. And the fox was healing. It was too strong. They were both too strong. He wouldn’t be able to fight this time. He couldn’t. He was so tired.

He pushed himself up and lurched, stumbling through the dark bedroom and through the door. He reached the kitchen and rifled through the cabinets until he found the bag of wolf lichen. He yanked the drawstring open clumsily and pulled out three of the little bags inside.

He boiled water in a saucepan. When it was done, he dropped all three bags of lichen into the pot and let them steep. He stood over the stove, watching the water in the pot darken in slow swirls of color.

When it was ready, he didn’t even bother with a mug. He took the pan to the living room and sat on the edge of the couch. He drank the lichen tea from the pan, not even waiting for it to cool. It burned all the way down his throat and he gagged at the bitter taste.

He drank every drop, then dropped the pan on the coffee table. He sat back on the couch and curled up, tucking his cold feet under himself.

He looked at the clock on the wall. Four in the morning.

Deaton opened the clinic at 6. He’d call him then.

===

Deaton came over right away. When Stiles opened the door, Deaton didn’t say a word, just studied Stiles quietly for a moment. Then he put a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “Let’s go sit down,” he said quietly, pushing Stiles gently back inside.

They sat on the couch and Deaton said “Tell me what happened.”

Stiles took a breath and told Deaton everything. Deaton didn’t interrupt once, just nodded along as Stiles spoke.

When Stiles was finished, Deaton was quiet for a moment, his gaze thoughtful.

“Stiles, tell me, how do you feel? Physically?”

Stiles thought for a few seconds, assessing himself. Then he shrugged. “Tired. Anxious.”

Deaton nodded. “But you don’t feel the void? Don’t feel the cold like before?”

It hadn’t occurred to Stiles, but he  _ didn’t _ feel any of those same feelings that he’d had before. Couldn’t feel the void scratching at him. If the fox had been healed, then...shouldn’t he be able to feel it? “I...no,” he answered. “I guess not.”

Deaton nodded again. He raised his eyes to meet Stiles’s. “Stiles,” he said carefully. “I don’t think the Nogitsune has returned.” He paused, watching Stiles for a reaction. “Nor do I believe the fox is returning. I think...that you just had a nightmare.”

Stiles blinked. A nightmare? Just a normal bad dream?

“I know,” Deaton continued, “That, given everything that has happened to you, it might be hard to believe, and I certainly don’t want to trivialize it, but,” he shrugged. “Sometimes dreams are just dreams.”

Stiles sat back on the couch. “Just a dream?”

Deaton tilted his head in the affirmative. “A nightmare. A nasty one, but just a nightmare.”

“I…” Stiles ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Okay. Just a nightmare. Great.”

Deaton gave him a sympathetic look. “Maybe you should stay with your father until Derek returns?” he suggested.

No way. Maybe it  _ was _ just a dream, but if it  _ wasn’t _ there was no way he would risk being around his dad alone.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Maybe I should. Thanks, doc.”

Then Deaton left and Stiles was alone again.

He didn’t go back to sleep.

===

The next day, Derek called to check in. It was the first time they’d spoken since he left.

Stiles still hadn’t slept.

_ “Sorry I didn’t call sooner,” _ Derek said.  _ “Haven’t even had a chance to catch my breath since the plane landed. Cora’s pack is really in deep over here.” _

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, trying to keep his voice even. “Is Cora?”

_ “Yeah, yeah, everyone’s okay. Well,” _ he paused.  _ “We...lost a few of her pack members. It’s...been pretty bad. Cora’s not really handling it well. But she’s not hurt.” _

“Oh. I’m sorry, that’s...” Stiles swallowed, trying to keep his voice casual. “Are you...is it all over now?”

Derek’s tone changed. Worry crept into his voice.  _ “Not yet. We still have a few loose ends to tie up...Is everything okay? You sound weird.” _

Stiles winced. “No, yeah yeah, everything’s good here. Don’t worry about ol’ Beacon Hills, it’s the same as you left it.”

_ “Stiles,” _ Derek said, his voice stern.  _ “I’m not talking about Beacon Hills. Are you okay?” _

“I just…”  _ I really need you to come back. I’m scared. Scared that this thing hasn’t really gone away. Scared that _ he’s _ back. And everytime I close my eyes I see Vanessa’s face, and I can feel the incubus’s hands on me, and I can’t do this, Derek, I can’t be by myself. I hate myself. I’m _ scared _ of myself. _

But he couldn’t say that. Instead, he skirted around the question. He didn’t want to give a direct answer. He didn’t want to lie to Derek, lying had gotten him into this mess in the first place, but he couldn’t tell the whole truth. Couldn’t risk Derek dropping everything and leaving Cora alone. “Just had a nightmare is all.”

_ “But you’re okay? Scott’s there with you, right?” _ Derek wasn’t going to let this go easily.

“He came over right after you left.” That was technically the truth. “Thanks for calling a babysitter for me, by the way.” He let a little annoyance color his voice, hoping it was convincing.

The truth was, he’d been annoyed that Derek thought he needed babysitting at first, but...he  _ did _ need it.  _ Wanted _ it, now that he was alone. And Derek had known that, known he’d needed to be with someone.

He felt a lump in his throat. “But...really. Thanks. I...I don’t want to be alone.” He wanted Derek. Wanted Scott. His dad.

_ “I’ll be home as soon as I can, okay? I don’t think I’ll get the chance to call again for a while, but I should be home in a few days. I love you.” _

“Love you, too,” Stiles said quietly.

===

He couldn’t. Couldn’t take it anymore. Guilt and fear were ripping through him. He couldn’t leave the house, couldn’t figure out a way to distract himself.

So he tore through the house until he found Derek’s hiding spot. Found the pills.

===

They helped. He took one and everything felt better. His anxiety eased. The guilt faded. The fear was gone. He didn’t care about anything. Just felt  _ better. _

One pill only lasted a few hours. When it wore off, he took another. 

He was probably killing his liver, or his kidneys or something, he didn’t even know what this stuff was. But he didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything.

When night fell, Stiles’s whole body ached for sleep. He was exhausted down in his bones. He didn’t even entertain the idea. No way was he going back to the dark place.

He popped some Adderall. His normal dose didn’t do anything to keep him awake, it just calmed him down and helped him focus. But not if he doubled the dose. When he doubled the dose, it woke him up. Euphoria tickled his insides. His focus was razor sharp. It wasn’t as good as the other stuff, but it would help him stay awake through the night.

When the sun came up, he opened all of the curtains on the huge windows in the living room. In the sunlight, he could almost pretend he wasn’t so tired. He could stay awake without the Adderall now. He could take another pill.

So he did. And somehow managed to keep himself awake.

And another one. Rinse and repeat. Adderall at night, the other stuff during the day.

He knew it wasn’t a good idea. Knew it was a problem. But when he took the pills he didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

_ Nothing _ mattered. The Nogitsune, the fox. The incubus. Vanessa. He didn’t care about them, didn’t have to worry, didn’t feel the guilt and shame.

He was fine.

===

By the fourth day, he couldn’t stay awake anymore.

He knew he’d have to sleep again, eventually. Knew he’d have to go to the dark place.

So he decided to do it on his own terms.

And...maybe he wasn’t in the best state of mind, right now. Was maybe on the edge of a chemically-induced psychosis and 4 days of sleep deprivation.

But his foggy mind decided that maybe if he took enough pills, he could sleep without dreaming.

He wasn’t going to overdose, he’d Googled the numbers on the pills during one of his Adderall binges and figured out how much was safe to take. It was hard to overdose on.

He knew it was a risk, though. He’d been railing the stuff for 4 days, and mixing it with Adderall was probably not great.

But god, he wanted to sleep. Wanted to sleep without dreaming.

So he took three pills and got comfortable on the couch. He fought sleep until the pills kicked in and dragged him under.


	10. Chapter 10

Derek called Stiles the minute he stepped off the plane. He’d meant to call him before he left South America, but he’d found a flight that was leaving earlier than he’d planned and just decided to book it. He wanted to be  _ home. _ So he hadn’t had time to call Stiles, he’d barely had time to make it to the airport.

But he called the minute he landed.

And the phone rang. And rang.

Stiles wasn’t answering. He checked the time. It was still early, he was probably asleep. So he shot him a text.

**Me: Back earlier than expected. Just landed. Omw home now. You up?**

He pocketed his phone and made his way out of the airport and to the Camaro. It would be a few hours before he made it home, the airport was pretty far from Beacon Hills, and traffic was pretty heavy this close to the city.

By the time he got to the loft, it was the middle of the afternoon and Stiles still hadn’t called or texted.

When he got inside, he realized why.

“Stiles?” he called when he stepped through the door. “You home?”

No answer. That was weird. The Jeep was outside, and even if Stiles had left with someone else driving, he would have taken his phone with him. Would have seen the missed call and the text.

Then he took another step forward and the front of the couch came into view. Stiles was curled up, fast asleep.

Derek let out a relieved breath and chided himself for worrying.

He dropped his bags by the couch and shook Stiles, gently. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m home. Wake up.”

Stiles didn’t stir. Derek shook a little harder. “Stiles.”

Stiles had always been a heavy sleeper, but…

That’s when he noticed it. The familiar bitter chemical smell. He didn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, it was  _ pouring _ off of Stiles.

Then Derek noticed the pill bottle on the coffee table. His heart leapt to his throat. He picked the bottle up and shook it. It was lighter than when he’d last held it.  _ Much _ lighter.

“Stiles!” he said again, his voice urgent. He shook Stiles again. Hard. “Stiles, can you hear me? Stiles!”

He should have called 911. In hindsight, he knew that. But he was panicking. And calling emergency services was never a reflex that had been drilled into him as a kid like it had been for normal people. He’d never really had to deal with an emergency that wasn’t supernaturally-induced.

He didn’t even remember picking up his phone, but suddenly it was to his ear and Melissa’s voice was on the other end.

“Melissa,” he rushed out. “Stiles won’t wake up. There’s a bottle of pills and I don’t know how many he took and he won’t wake up and I don’t know what to do.”

_ “Derek! Take a breath and calm down. Is he breathing? Does he have a pulse?” _

Derek checked. “Yes!” he breathed into the phone.

_ “Okay. Turn him on his side and make sure his airway is clear. Hang up and call 911. Right now, Derek.” _

He did. They were sending an ambulance. He dropped down on the floor next to the couch. He shook Stiles again and again.

Then,  _ finally, _ Stiles stirred.

“Nnn,” he groaned. “Derek?” He opened his eyes and blinked at Derek blearily.

Derek could have cried with relief. He wasn’t sure he didn’t.

“Stiles!” Derek grabbed Stiles’s face and turned it towards him. “Stiles, how many pills did you take? Did you take this whole bottle?”

“Wh-what?” Stiles blinked some more, trying to focus. He looked at the bottle. “N-no! Derek no. Just three. ‘m okay.” He shook his head, trying to clear the fog. “Derek, I’m fine.”

“Are you  _ sure? _ You’re sure it was only three? Stiles, this bottle was half full before.” Derek shook the near-empty bottle for emphasis. Stiles’s unfocused gaze slid over the bottle and he swallowed.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “J’st three. I...took the rest. Before. Not today.” He looked at the floor, avoiding Derek’s eyes.

Before Derek could respond, there was a loud knock at the door. “Shit, the EMTs.”

Stiles gaped.  _ “EMTs?” _

“I thought you overdosed!” Derek stood and went to let them in.

Derek explained the situation and the EMTs gave Stiles a quick once-over to his groggy embarrassment.

They wanted to take him to the hospital, but he refused and they apparently couldn’t force him. Derek didn’t want to push it. Stiles didn’t do so well with hospitals these days, not after the Nogitsune, and he apparently wasn’t on death’s door, so he and Stiles both signed some kind of liability release forms and the EMTs went on their way. One of them handed Derek a handful of pamphlets about drug abuse before he closed the door behind them.

Derek leaned forward and pressed his head to the closed door. Stiles was quiet.

When Derek finally turned around, Stiles was curled up on the couch. His eyes were open and unfocused, his breathing hitching in quiet almost-sobs.

Derek moved until he was crouching in front of Stiles.

“Derek,” Stiles breathed. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t...I couldn’t…”

Derek swallowed. “Stop,” he said firmly.

Stiles’s clamped his mouth shut so fast his teeth made a sound when they clicked together.

“We’ll talk about this when your head is clearer,” Derek said, his voice deadpan.

Stiles nodded, his eyes welling.

===

Derek thought that Stiles would sleep it off. Expected him to turn over and go back to sleep. But he didn’t. Derek took his bag to their bedroom and unpacked. Took the dirty clothes and put them in the washing machine. Took a shower. All the while, Stiles sat pressed into the corner of the couch, hugging his knees to his chest, deathly pale and quiet.

Derek ignored him.

Until finally he couldn’t take it anymore and he walked back to the living room. He stood in front of Stiles and stared at him. Stiles didn’t meet his gaze, but his eyes were clearer now.

“Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Derek finally asked.

Stiles took a breath. “I…” he started, then closed his mouth, his eyes shifting up to Derek’s face. “I wasn’t...I didn’t tell you the whole truth. When you called.”

Derek ground his teeth. “I thought you were done lying.”

Stiles gestured helplessly. “I didn’t  _ lie, _ I just…” He sighed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start with why Scott isn’t here.” Derek’s voice was still hard.

“He  _ was _ here. He—”

“Came over right after I left, yeah, I got that part before. Nice way to avoid a direct answer.” Derek let some of his anger seep into his voice. Stiles twitched.

“He stayed for a few days. Then Kira went into false labor. He didn’t want to leave her again.”

Derek sighed. He couldn’t be mad at Scott for that. But he  _ could _ be mad that Scott apparently hadn’t thought it important to  _ check _ on his best friend after he left him alone when he obviously  _ shouldn’t be left alone. _

“Fine,” Derek said. “Keep going.”

Stiles let his eyes wander up to Derek’s face for a second, then they darted away again. His leg jiggled anxiously. “Derek, I…Being alone was getting to me. I…” He reached a hand up and rubbed at his eyes. “I have all of this... _ guilt _ and I was  _ managing _ it, but it’s so  _ hard, _ Derek, it’s eating me up, and…” Stiles’s breathing was coming faster, his words hiccuping. “And then I had this dream and Deaton said it was just a dream, but Derek,  _ what if it wasn’t, _ what if he’s really back? I can’t...Derek it can’t happen again. Derek I’m sorry, I’m just so  _ scared, _ I don’t...I don’t know how to...I can’t…” His words trailed off into harsh gasps.

Derek dropped down onto the couch next to him and wrapped an arm around him. “Okay,” he soothed. As Stiles talked, Derek’s anger melted away into guilt. He shouldn’t have left Stiles alone. He shouldn’t have trusted  _ Scott _ of all people to stay with him, he knew Scott had a lousy track record with that kind of thing. Worst of all...he’d been the one to get the pills. Had left them in the loft. What had he expected?

“Okay,” he said again, rubbing Stiles’s shoulder. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

He really hoped that was the truth.

===

Noshiko returned two days later. In that time, Stiles had explained to Derek everything that happened while he was away. Stiles was embarrassed and ashamed, but he didn’t lie.

Derek flushed the rest of the pills. Stiles watched them swirl down the drain with a twinge of longing.

Then Kira called. Noshiko was back, and she wanted to come over right away.

Stiles found himself sitting on the couch, Noshiko seated next to him. Derek stood off to the side, watching.

Noshiko studied him quietly. He squirmed, self-conscious. Being under everyone’s scrutiny so much lately was getting to him.

“I no longer have the Oni,” she said softly, “So I cannot perform the usual test, but,” she nodded. “I can assure you that the Nogitsune remains locked away beneath the Nemeton. He has not regained his hold over you.” She paused, before going on. “And the young nogitsune that was inhabiting you...I cannot say for sure, but I believe it is gone. The lichen tea would have been enough to kill it. And as Deaton said, you felt its death throes. And you no longer feel its influence.” She lay a small hand over one of Stiles’s in his lap. “You are free. You have nothing to worry about.”

And that was that. No more Nogitsune. No more fox. Free, she said.

But he sure as hell didn’t feel free.

===

Derek called Deaton. He got the number of Deaton’s therapist friend again, the one that Stiles had thrown away. Her name was Bobbie and she was a sylph. Stiles saw her twice a week.

The hardest part was going outside. Stepping over the threshold. But he'd managed it. It helped that Derek was there next to him.

He didn’t talk a lot, at first, during his sessions. Bobbie did most of the talking, and he listened. Eventually, he talked. He talked a lot.

And it helped. The guilt was still there, but she was teaching him how to manage it.

He didn’t think he’d be able to...he was still trying to get over the incubus. Still trying not to feel its hands on him. Derek was okay with it. They could still hold each other. Still sleep wrapped around each other. That was enough for now.

He found Devon, some time later. Devon didn’t want to talk to him, but he kept coming back, and eventually they did. Apologizing would never be enough, but they both needed closure, so that’s what Stiles did. Devon was quiet after. When Stiles went to leave, Devon stopped him. He told Stiles that he didn’t blame him. Stiles walked away.

Kira had her baby. It was a boy, and Stiles and Derek were uncles. Scott and Kira were terrified they’d break him. Stiles wondered if he’d turn out to be a wolf, a kitsune, or just a vanilla human. It didn’t matter, either way. Stiles was going to teach him how to swing a baseball bat like a champ.

Stiles went back to school. He came home on weekends and holidays, and Derek visited him at school a lot.

He still had nightmares sometimes. Still went to the dark place. The tricksters were always there waiting for him.

But they were just dreams.


End file.
